


Two Point Oh

by pornographicrainbowlegs



Series: nanobots [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bucky Barnes's Metal Arm, Canon-Typical Violence, Depression, Gen, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Medical Procedures, Non-Serum Steve Rogers/Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes | Shrinkyclinks, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Science Fiction, Slow Build, shrinkyclinks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-22
Updated: 2016-03-04
Packaged: 2018-05-08 05:15:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 31,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5484944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pornographicrainbowlegs/pseuds/pornographicrainbowlegs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You can't just solve everything with science, Tony,” Steve grouses, crossing his arms over his chest skeptically.</p>
<p>“Actually, I think I can,” Tony counters. “Besides, you don't even know what it does yet!”</p>
<hr/>
<p>Tony Stark is a genius. He can invent and innovate, and usually save asses in the process - mostly his own. But this story isn’t about Tony Stark.</p>
<p>This story is about Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes.</p>
<p>Though it is worth noting that if it weren’t for Tony Stark, the lives of Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes would be remarkably different.</p>
<p>When Stark Tech Goes Horribly Wrong: A Love Story</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic would never be what it is without [transwintersoldier](http://transwintersoldier.tumblr.com/) and [theflailing](http://theflailing.tumblr.com/). Those two had such a positive impact on this fic, I owe them so much. Thank you!
> 
> You can find my tumblr at [captainrainbowlegs](http://captainrainbowlegs.tumblr.com/).

“Steve!” Tony bellows as he kicks his wheeled stool away from his lab table, spinning to watch the man in question exit the elevator to the R&D Lab.

“Tony,” Steve says around the hangnail he’s chewing. “Have you seen Maria?” he asks, wincing at the now slightly bloodied area where he successfully ripped away the stubby skin.

“Have you checked her office?” Tony asks. Steve isn’t given an opportunity to answer before Tony continues, “Forget her, I want to show you something.”

Tony sit-walks his chair back to his research table. Steve joins him. The table is bare of any tools, though a few hologram screens hover over the table displaying various things Steve doesn’t get the chance to identify before Tony shouts, “Nanobots!” louder than necessary given his audience, vibrating with excitement.

“Nanobots?” Steve asks, investigating one of the larger hologram screens that depicts the nanobot blueprint.

“ _Self replicating_ nanobots,” Tony says, enunciating with his finger for clarification. “These babies will be the next generation in health care. They will literally replace doctors.”

Tony continues to give an overview of the included features - invasive cell detection and protocol, Bluetooth capabilities, communication via text message, cell replication and integration - as Steve watches another screen displaying the nanobots swimming in some sort of fluid.

Steve disengages from Tony’s description of the ‘bots as he investigates the other holograph screens, though none of them are nearly as interesting as the tank that catches his eye. A quick consultation with one of the screens confirms that this must be the nanobot holding tank. He walks over to inspect. Tony follows, still talking and undeterred by Steve’s lack of direct acknowledgement. “-not ready for prime time just yet. There’s still a bunch of bugs to work out, but they’re close! So close!”

Steve comes to a stop in front of the tank. The tank is small, maybe a drinking glass in size. The nanobots live up to their name, so small that even though several screens depict the ‘bots swimming at various enlargements, there is no visible current in the tank. “That’s neat,” Steve says, turning back to look at Tony’s face.

“Well, we can’t all be super soldiers,” Tony snarks, sneering with mild irritation, “so this will at least put us lesser beings on the same playing field. _This_ will cure _cancer_! I have created the cure for cancer! I better start on my Nobel Prize speech now.” By the end of the self indulgent monologue, Tony is grinning wildly and talking with his hands again.

“That sounds like an excellent use of your time,” Steve replies, turning back to the tank so Tony doesn’t see the smirk plastered across his face.

“Well, what have _you_ done in the way of world saving today, _Capsicle_?” Tony fires back.

“Nothing yet, but it’s still early,” Steve shrugs. “So has Bruce seen these?” His face is under control enough to glance at Stark to gauge his response. His hangnail from earlier twinges, irritated from being pulled out. Steve sticks it in his mouth again to tongue at the area.

“Yeah, he’s looked over the schematics and given his suggestions.”

Steve slides his eyes back to the tank, screwing up his face in confusion. “Is it supposed to be doing that?” he asks, taking his finger out of his mouth.

“Hmm?”

“The tank is overflowing,” Steve says, pointing at the tank.

“Well, officially? No," Tony frowns.

A few things happen in quick succession: the small drips of liquid abruptly turn into trickles, pooling on the metal table; Tony retrieves a thick stick; and Dum-E comes rushing over almost knocking Steve ass over tea kettles. Steve narrowly avoids the fate by planting his palm on the table and maneuvering slightly to the left. Dum-E waves his mechanical arm at Steve in a gesture Steve has to guess the meaning of. Given that all of Tony’s various mechanical creations are generally benevolent, if sarcastic, he assumes the robot is doing his best to apologize.

“Watch it," Tony squawks, though Steve can't tell if the order is directed at him or at the robot. Nevertheless, Steve removes himself from the immediate area, as does Dum-E who beeps dejected warbles as he rolls back to his corner of the lab. Steve watches, absently wiping his hand on his pants leg, as Tony extends the stick and hovers it over the liquid. "Jarvis, discontinue nanobot nutrition fluid."

"Of course, Sir," the AI says in his usual musical monotonous tone.

Tony continues to wave his big stick over the liquid, not completely dissimilar to how one would wield a magic wand, especially for how the thing seems to operate. The liquid looks like it’s defying gravity, floating upwards in little blobs mid-air where Tony waves his stick. “How are you doing that?” Steve asks, transfixed, several scenes from that kid wizard movie pop to the forefront of his mind.

“Magic,” Tony smiles. “Well, sort of. I mean, not literally, though that is the acronym. Stands for Magnetic Area Geothermal Isolating Center, or the containment protocol for the ‘bots.”

“You literally have a magic wand?” Steve snorts.

“I said, ‘ _not_ literally’. Do you not listen?” Tony asks, distracted from the blobs of liquid to glare at Steve.

“Okay,” Steve concedes, shrugging his shoulders in surrender. Appeased, Tony goes back to swinging the wand about and making the little blobs into larger blobs. “Though this does explain all the owls I’ve been spotting,” Steve says after a moment of silence, sparking Tony to use his free hand to give a rude gesture. “Oh, hey, this even gives me an idea for a nickname for you. I mean, Sam has Falcon, Nat has Black Widow. You’ll now be known as the Wizard of Avengers Tower,” Steve presses his luck.

“That will never catch on,” Tony replies. “I am Iron Man.”

“Whatever you say, Whiz Kid.”

“Whatever you say, old man,” Tony mocks high pitched, nasally, and rude.

The elevator dings, distracting Steve from a verbal retort.

Bruce Banner exits the elevator with an enormous BOSS sandwich on a dinner plate that should probably be described as a serving platter. “That sandwich is… excessive,” Steve observes as Bruce walks to the lab table with the hovering hologram screens. He delivers the sandwich and flicks the screens to float higher off the surface.

“I’ve learned it’s best to bring enough for two so that _he_ ,” Bruce says, pointedly nodding at Tony, quietly enough so the man in question doesn’t acknowledge, “might actually eat real food instead of protein bars. What’s going on?”

“Bruce! Get over here and let me show you how the MAGIC happens,” Tony says, using his free hand to usher Bruce closer. Bruce cautiously walks over to Tony, watching the blobs of nanobots. “Here, take my MAGIC stick,” he winks, taking Bruce’s hand and dropping the wand in it. He directs Bruce’s wand hand a bit while Bruce gets the hang of the movements.

“It’s a little phallic, isn’t it?” he asks, inspecting the wand in his hand. Tony slows the directional pull on Bruce, his frown more resembling a pout. “No, I mean, I don’t mean anything by that, I love your MAGIC stick -”

And with that, Steve takes his leave. Fuck this century and everyone in it.

The elevator is still sitting at the R&D floor so Steve can escape while Tony and Bruce continue to make various innuendo. “Jarvis, my floor, please?” Steve asks to the general direction of the ceiling as the doors slide shut behind him.

“Yes, Captain.”

Steve rests his butt against the hand railing, head and shoulders bent slightly down, and hands clasped loosely in front of him as the elevator descends. It doesn’t surprise him when the elevator makes a stop prior to his floor, but the new occupant makes his eyebrow raise.

“Captain Rogers,” Maria Hill greets with a nod. She steps on the elevator, dragging her rolling briefcase behind her. “My office, Jarvis,” she requests of the AI.

“Yes, Commander.”

“I was looking for you,” Steve says without preamble once the doors have slid closed.

“Yes, I know,” Maria smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. She kneels down to her briefcase and unclips the buckle, then shuffles through various dossiers before pulling the one she is after. “Here,” she shoves the folder at Steve before buckling her briefcase again.

Steve takes the thick portfolio and examines the cover. “Thank you,” he nods.

“Don’t mention it,” she says over her shoulder. The elevator stops at the Commander’s floor and she exits, pulling her rolling briefcase behind her. The doors close again and Steve has to fight the urge to begin ripping through the contents.

The original Winter Soldier dossier, which Natasha had given him months ago, was helpful - if also enraging and depressing - at first. Or perhaps he was too hopeful to realize all the blank spaces and dead ends it would lead to. Sam and Steve spent weeks working through all the leads it contained. In the end, every single one turned out the be useless - either killed, destroyed, or dismantled - before the two could properly investigate. Eventually, Sam was able to convince Steve they needed more than a rapidly aging dossier full of old leads that were no longer viable with no new leads gained.

Their return to DC was equally unfruitful. They quickly discovered DC also lacked any resources as the aftermath of Natasha’s exposure left them all unattainable - MIA, in prison, or dead. Then Tony Stark called two days after their return with a clichéd offer Steve could not refuse: a job, a place to live, access to gyms that could keep up with his strength and ability, and Maria Hill.

After the fall of the Triskelion, Maria took a position at Stark Industries to continue to maintain global security under the Avengers Initiative, primarily taken over by Stark himself. Officially, the project isn’t supposed to exist. But that had always been the official story, even when the project was run under SHIELD.

With Nick Fury gone and SHIELD invariably destroyed and decommissioned, Maria Hill is about the only trustworthy resource with _any_ information on the Winter Soldier.

Tony’s offer also extended to Sam. His efforts to take down HYDRA did not go unnoticed by the genius. Or, really, had not gone unnoticed by Maria, who had been kind enough to pass the reference along.

Sam, of course, rolled his eyes at Stark’s money. But he did agree to consider the offer.

And so, the next morning, nine highly skilled and efficient movers arrived at Steve’s apartment to move what probably only required four moderately experienced and partially organized friends with promises of pizza.

Less than a week after that, Steve caught up with a familiar face on his favorite running route through Central Park. “On your left,” he huffed.

“Do _not_ start that again,” Sam called after Steve.

Steve smiles at the memory, jolted back to the present as the elevator dings and the doors slide open nearly silent to his floor.

“His Floor” is definitely an overstatement. While it is true that there are no other tenants, residential or business, occupying his floor and that Tony intended the floor to be all his, most of the floor is just empty rooms, shut off and gathering dust. Tony offered to help fill the space with an en suite gym or art studio or anything else of Steve’s choosing, but Steve declined, though he does feel regretful about the empty, unused rooms.

Tony likes to pretend the apartment was made with Steve in mind. Tony’s big name designer, whoever they were, was probably designing for Captain America instead of Steve Rogers. It’s a very nice layout, but if it was intended to make Steve feel at home, it missed the mark by a long shot.

Steve has only lived alone once, for a very, very brief period between when his ‘ma passed away and when Bucky and he moved into their tiny tenement. The tenement building was owned by Bucky’s uncle so they got a small discount on the already reasonable price. Living with someone else made it easier to do the small upkeeps, like the dishes and the dusting. It was easier to maintain cleanliness when someone else was judgmentally pelting his socks at the back of his head if he left them on the floor instead of in the hamper.

He grabs a jacket from the pile of clean clothes he has yet to put away, his cellphone from his bedside table (almost knocking over at least three precariously placed water cups in the process), and his wallet from the counter between a bowl of soggy cereal and a mug of fuzzy coffee, before taking the elevator back to street level. Sam’s shift at the hospital will be over by the time Steve walks the few blocks, and maybe stops to get Starbucks.

When Sam moved from DC, there were no paid transfer positions to the local VA. He still volunteers when he has time, but he needed paid work. As a certified member of the National Registry of Emergency Medical Technicians at the Paramedic level, thanks to his pararescue days with the Air Force, Sam was qualified for the emergency medical services team at Sacred Heart.

The most direct route to the hospital from Avengers Tower passes two Starbucks locations, not including the Starbucks that houses itself within the hospital walls. Steve prefers the second Starbucks along his route because they have a chalk drawn Try Me sign. He usually orders the suggestion since the choices of coffee drinks on the full menu are overwhelming at best, not to mention the time Clint tried to introduce him to the Secret Menu.

He orders two of the same drink off the Try Me sign and sips his during the rest of his walk to the ambulance bay to wait for Sam.

“Only Captain America would show up 15 minutes _early_ with Starbucks,” Sam says as he walks up to Steve half an hour later.

“I’m not 15 minutes early, you’re 15 minutes late,” Steve teases, handing over the Venti something-or-other chilled coffee-flavored sugar frappe drink to Sam.

“Yeah, sorry, got called out for a diabetic collapse,” Sam says, but Steve is already waving his excuse off as unnecessary.

The two exit the ambulance bay and begin the walk to Sam’s apartment as Sam briefly recounts his day, beginning with the poor old man who fell on his way to the toilet and ending with the middle aged lady unresponsive from low sugars, just in time to sip the last of the liquid obnoxiously up through his straw.

“What even is this?” Sam asks, shaking the plastic cup to settle the remaining melted ice before making a final attempt to suck up more flavor before they pass the next trash can.

“Caramel ribbon Macchiato cream extra whip soy frappe espresso - “

“You have absolutely no idea, do you?” Sam interrupts the stream of unrelated Starbucks drink definitions.

“Not a clue,” Steve admits with a wry smile and a shrug.

Sam rolls his eyes as he maneuvers through the comparably mild foot traffic to reach the trash bin before joining back up with Steve, complaining, “Man, now I’ll never be able to try that magic elixir again because your ass gets flustered by baristas.”

“I am not flustered by baristas,” Steve defends himself with an eye roll of his own. “Just that back in my day, coffee only came in black, black, or, if you’re feeling extra adventurous, black.” He pauses long enough to cringe, “And don’t say ‘magic elixir’ anymore.”

“Only if you promise not to say ‘back in my day’, _old man_ ,” Sam says while bumping Steve’s shoulder pointedly.

Steve sniffs out a pity laugh before nodding in mutual agreement. 

Sam’s apartment is only a few blocks away from the hospital and Avengers Tower. Sam found it by recommendation from Pepper Potts. Rent isn’t astronomical, though that may have more to do with the size than the location. His one bedroom might literally be the size of a postage stamp, but no one has gotten out the measuring tape to confirm. But the balcony-cum-fire escape has enough room for his plants and the natural light makes the place look more homey, as do his framed music posters on the wall, his overstuffed couch in front of his moderate sized television, large area rugs, and socially acceptable amount of dirty dishes on available surfaces. Steve is mildly jealous of that last one.

He has made friends with the neighbors, too. He carried Mrs. Rosenberg's groceries up the stairs when the elevator broke. She now bakes him a pan of her award winning brownies every Sunday. Sam’s taken to letting Steve finish the pan when he noticed that he had to let his belt out a few notches. As he was taking the stairs with Mrs. Rosenberg’s groceries he met Elizabeth “Lizzi” Arnoni, who was trying to get a hold of the building’s emergency plumber. Lizzi tried to thank him with cash, but he refused. A few days later, he found a hand knit scarf tied to his door with a note of thanks.

Mr. Zwicky from across the hall often leaves to visit his children in Maine and asks Sam to cat sit for Critter, who he has to catch before she runs out the door upon his arrival with Steve.

“Can I offer you anything?” Sam asks, taking on the role of host even though it’s been a long time since Steve was considered a guest. He shoves Critter into Steve’s hands and walks to the kitchen to dish up one of Mrs. Rosenberg’s brownies for Steve.

Steve grunts as Critter squirms and wiggles in his arms, ultimately letting her flail to the ground with little grace to speak of. Steve grumbles after the ball of fur as she scrambles under Sam’s bed.

The two reconvene in the living room where Steve finally opens the dossier and spreads out the contents: grainy surveillance camera photographs, photocopied notebook pages in varied handwriting, printed emails, newspaper clippings, and a large, folded map. 

Sam retrieves his laptop from the bedroom and opens an internet browser to Google some of the details and translate the languages that are not English.

Sam and Steve have received enough packets from Maria to have a system. They will both read through all the materials and take notes separately before coming back together to compare their findings. Not everything in the packet is something the Winter Soldier has done. Separating out the patterns has become critical to tracking his movements. But it seems that’s what they’ve been reduced to. Maria is privileged to a lot of information, but often missions conducted by the Winter Soldier go unnoticed for weeks, if not months. He’s stealthy and it’s not like HYDRA wants to advertise that their greatest weapon has turned against them. So gaps in the timeline of events don’t necessarily mean he’s not mobile.

But that in itself makes it damn hard to know where he was and impossible to know where he's heading. Often the most recent intel Maria can provide is already at least a week old with all personnel involved dead, unfindable, or otherwise unable to be interrogated.

The names and locations might be new, but all the information seems to point to the same dead ends that they always do. It’s disheartening and demoralizing.

Critter returns by the time Steve is on his second brownie to curl up on top of the now unfolded map. “Shithead,” Steve declares as he picks her up to deposit her on his lap, petting her to calm her into remaining there while he reads through the newspaper clippings. They order Chinese takeout for dinner and Steve sneaks a third brownie while Sam hits the head. Soon, Sam is yawning. Steve takes the hint that it’s time to leave.

Sam smiles, standing to collect the dishes and bring them to the sink. Steve stands and stretches before collecting the stray plate and cup left behind and setting them on the counter for Sam.

“Same time tomorrow?” he asks, stifling a yawn of his own as he collects his shoes and jacket from the entryway.

“Yeah,” Sam promises, voice rough and low with exhaustion.

Sam sees him out and Steve walks back to Avengers Tower, an overwhelming sense of incompletion weighing over his head. Things just haven’t gone according to plan and coming to terms with the lack of results is a daily, repetitive, grating task. Keeping occupied with something other than finding Bucky has become inconceivable.

It’s gotten to the point that Steve almost wishes for a world emergency just for a distraction.

Steve falls into bed and stares at the ceiling for a while. He’s tried falling asleep to white noise, water and nature sounds, talk radio, and Netflix. Sometimes it helps, sometimes it doesn’t. He is lucky that being a super soldier makes it easier to function on less than the recommended amount of sleep. Eventually he is able to ignore the absolute silence of the Tower and falls into a less than restful sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While I was doing research on NYC, I found tons of running route information. Click [here](http://www.centralpark.com/usr/maps/CentralParkRunningMap.pdf), [here](http://www.centralparknyc.org/things-to-see-and-do/attractions/running.html?referrer=https://www.google.com/), and [here](http://www.forbes.com/sites/fathom/2013/11/06/the-6-best-running-routes-in-new-york-city/). Kinda cool!


	2. Chapter 2

Morning comes, bright and shining through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Steve gets up, gulps down a protein shake, gets dressed, and goes to the gym for several hours of exercise. Another protein shake, a shower, and a new pair of clothes later leaves him with nothing to do.

Under SHIELD, he tended to be a workaholic. There was nothing waiting for him at home except documentaries on all the things he’d missed while being frozen in the Arctic ice. When even SHIELD couldn’t find something for him to do, he’d visit Peggy.

Now that he’s working for Tony, there’s even less obligation for him. His “job” mainly consists of keeping up his peak physical condition, saving the world when necessary, and making _appearances_. He’s already completed his training schedule for the day, the world is not in peril, and there are no _appearances_ that he’s been invited to.

There isn’t nothing to do, but the one thing he wants to do is Off Limits. When Sam found him, not for the first time, with two weeks of beard growth and nearly as many days without a shower, adjustments to his Find Bucky Or Bust mission were required.

Sam demanded the dossiers to stay at his place, _Or Else_ he would tell Maria not to give them to Steve. Objectively, Steve does understand. Subjectively, he’d like to pull a manipulative move, like remind Sam of what he’d do if it were Riley. The only thing that stops him from playing that card is that he’s not sure he can suffer one more iota of guilt on top of everything else.

Bucky is his only contemporary, the only remaining link to his past. Steve has been so lonely since thawing from the ice. Maybe if he'd been found sooner - before the Commandos passed away, before Howard’s car accident, before Peggy's Alzheimer's - he might have had a chance of returning to some sort of normalcy.

But those were not the cards he was dealt. And he's managed to mostly succeed in rejoining society, even if absolutely nothing has remained the same. Even though something as simple and familiar as getting a sandwich sends him reeling because five dollars for a sandwich makes him feel so paralyzed. He remembers having less than that to spend on groceries for a week, and now the world expects him to spend that on one meal.

The literal millions of dollars of back pay in his bank accounts and the plastic credit card in his wallet are about the only things keeping him sane. He doesn't even listen to the price totals anymore or he's sure to have a panic attack at the register of Walgreens.

But Bucky will understand - assuming Bucky isn’t buried under the Winter Soldier.

Bucky and Steve used to be as good as brothers, attached at the hip, living in each other’s pockets. There’s no way Bucky wouldn’t understand why Steve hates cooking shows. Those shows waste more food in one episode than Steve and Bucky had to survive on for a day. Bucky will understand the money worries. Hell, he'd know _Steve_.

No one else does. Maybe a case could be made for Sam, and Steve appreciates Sam, but Sam wasn't there when Steve was Skinny Steve Rogers. He wasn't there to protect Steve from the bullies. He wasn't there when Steve’s 'ma passed. He wasn't there when they heard over the wireless that Pearl Harbor was attacked or that they would be joining the War or the day Bucky got his Dear John. Bucky was.

There is no one else. And since Bucky doesn’t want to be found, there is no one at all.

So instead, Steve fills his life with various distractions, to divert his attention long enough to give him some semblance of normalcy. To “pass” anyway. That’s all he’ll ever get to without Bucky. Passing, but by the skin of his teeth.

So without the ability to research, he considers an alternative distraction that will last until his next distraction.

He hasn’t visited the children’s ward yet this week.

Steve Rogers is fairly invisible. Sometimes he’ll notice that folks will stop and look a little harder, a little longer. Sometimes they ask for selfies if they recognize him, but more often he’ll go unnoticed. But as Captain America, he can hardly get out of the Tower before swarms of people halt nearly all progress. And the children get so excited when he comes for a visit, which he does often enough that the front desk staff are no longer surprised to see him. Captain America visits the children’s ward as often as Steve Rogers needs a break from being Steve Rogers.

As far as distractions go, it’s one of his favorites.

He spends most of the afternoon taking pictures, signing toys, talking to the kids, and playing dolls. Sam walks in to find Steve at a table with three other children, open Dora the Explorer coloring book in front of him.

“Her shirt is purple, you know,” Sam says by way of greeting, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed in mock judgement.

“That’s what I told him,” the little girl seated to Steve’s right lisps with an exaggerated eye roll.

“Why didn’t you listen to the little girl, Cap?” Sam asks, eyebrows raised.

“Artistic license,” Steve smirks over his green crayon at Sam.

“Someone’s grumpy. Do you need a Snickers, Steve?” Sam asks, offering an escape if Steve wants it.

“Yeah,” he answers, appreciative.

And so begins the goodbye hugs and waves and promises to return soon. Steve picks up his shield and follows Sam out of the children’s ward and down to the hospital entrance. “That’s all you brought to wear, isn’t it?” Sam asks as they walk. “Do you just like wearing the suit everywhere you go?”

“Nah, it gives me wedgies,” Steve grins.

“Oh-ho-ho, Captain Little Ass gets wedgies?” Sam teases.

“Sorry, we can’t all be bestowed with such a juicilicious tush, Falcon Bigbutt,” Steve serves right back.

The walk to Sam’s apartment takes longer than normal due to the suit. Sam’s presence means less people than usual bug him for pictures and autographs, but the two still are fighting a crowd by the time they reach Sam’s building.

Arriving at Sam’s apartment, Steve immediately unpacks all the research while Sam prepares dinner. The menu for the evening is Thai noodles with spicy peanut chicken, one of Steve’s favorites. While Sam cooks, they talk about easy topics, like how was work, how the children were, the latest book Steve’s reading, when Mr. Zwicky will be returning from Maine so Sam can be done cat sitting.

“Just hope the little shit doesn’t get out on me again,” Sam says, not unkindly while scratching her gently under her chin. Critter is not supposed to be an outside cat, but she makes a run for it almost every time Sam opens the door.

“She always comes back eventually,” Steve offers somewhat uselessly with a shrug. And she does, though usually because she somehow manages to find her way up to his floor in Avengers Tower and he’s the one who returns her while she glares at him.

Steve goes back for thirds on the noodles and then takes the last of Mrs. Rosenberg's brownies. He pulls his research closer, hopeful now that dinner is through that they can begin.

“Tony emailed,” Sam says.

“For what?” Steve asks, biting on the conversational bait. He pushes the folder back again and tries not to be annoyed. He is interested, but it tugs a very tender spot to postpone looking for Bucky.

“Make an appointment with me,” Sam shrugs, but Steve can see the light of excitement in his friend’s eyes. “We’re talking paint jobs for my new wings.”

Tony has been working on Sam’s wings since Sam’s arrival in New York. Anyone who knows Tony long enough learns that the way Tony shows his affection is with sarcasm and material goods. And since Sam refused his offer of free room and board, he went balls to the wall to come up with a better design for Sam’s wings.

“Got any ideas?” Steve asks around a mouthful of brownie. The sugar and gooey caramel cling to his teeth and make his words come out sticky.

“Some,” Sam smiles. “Might need an _artist_ though,” he gently dangles the lure in Steve’s face.

“I mean, I could take a look, if you want,” Steve smoothly suggests.

They hash out a few ideas for color schemes and decal ideas for Steve to flesh out when he has more time and access to his good colored pencils.

Sam packs up the leftovers and starts on the dishes. Steve once again pulls the folder of research front and center. He runs a hand through his hair and tries to make sense of the cryptically phrased emails and vastly outdated information.

"Do you think we’re close to finding him?” Sam asks while scrubbing the peanut sauce from the pan.

"At this rate, we won’t find shit,” Steve says bitterly, gesturing to the research the two have been skirting since their arrival. He's not mad at Sam for making conversation on something else when they could be finding Bucky. He's mad at himself. If any of the last century’s worth of “what if” scenarios had gone just slightly different, Bucky wouldn't be missing. He'd be here, with Steve. Or they'd both be long dead.

Which would still be better than this uncertainty.

Sam hums out a reply, not agreeing or disagreeing with the assessment.

The uncertainty is ugly and vicious, asking the “what if” over and over and over again until Steve doubts everything that has happened. What makes him think they’ll even find Bucky? Like, actually him and not just his leftover kills and empty cans of beans. And say they do find him, then what?

“He didn't even recognize me," Steve says, more lost than angry.

It's a fear he hates to even acknowledge. He knows he saw recognition flash just before falling into the Potomac, but a lot can happen in five months. And if Bucky did recognize him, why hasn't he come home yet? Is it just that he doesn’t want to be found? Or has HYDRA found him first?

He picks up the pen he’s borrowing and scratches more detail into the sketches of Sam’s wings to hide the way his throat closed up remembering Bucky’s scared face on the helicarrier.

Sam lets the silence hang and finishes with the pan he was washing before drying his hands and facing Steve head on. “I’m sorry,” he admits gently.

Steve resolutely does not look up from his paper. “Me too.”

“I’d ask if you’re okay,” Sam says, the lilt in his voice alludes to the reasons so evident that he doesn’t bother drawing attention to the way Steve’s throat tightens as he swallows around the tears he refuses to shed.

“I should go. It’s late.” It's not. They both know it's a lie, but Sam doesn’t call him on it and Steve is so grateful.

“Text me when you get home?” Sam asks, but they both know it’s really a requirement.

“Yeah,” Steve answers with a sigh, still trying to get his breathing under control. He gathers his shield and heads for the exit.

The cool night air clears his head. Emptiness is preferable to overwhelming despondency. Still, when a couple asks for a selfie, he shoves the feeling down and smiles for their picture before continuing home.

When he arrives to his apartment in the Tower, he collapses on the couch and sleeps until well passed socially acceptable. He spends the rest of his afternoon sketching Sam’s wings. Very late in the evening, he sends them by email to Sam, Tony cc’d.

The mid-afternoon sun becomes too irritating to ignore and rouses Steve from his bedroom pity party long enough for him to change venues to the living room. Several documentaries provide background noise as he drifts and dozes. He makes himself macaroni and cheese and eats it straight from the pot. It’s long dark outside before he gets up again, and he only gets up because of the incessant pressure in his bladder.

Steve’s text tone becomes an unwelcome alarm clock the next morning, but he postpones reading it as long as possible. When he does, he can practically hear Natasha’s judgmental tone as he reads, “If you're lying in bed eating day old macaroni straight from the pot I’m going to be very disappointed in you.”

“You better not have any cameras in my apartment,” he replies.

Her response is immediate, "Don't change the subject. Get out of bed and shower. You look like a bum. Wave to the camera!"

Deciding he’s had a long enough pity party, he gets out of bed and finally returns the empty pot of macaroni to the sink to soak. Then he takes Natasha’s suggestion and showers. He smells like hotdogs and it is not attractive.

“Showered and awaiting further orders, ma’am,” he texts her just to be a jackass. Still, he’s not entirely surprised when he gets a reply only a minute later.

“Go flex your muscles for a while. Use it or lose it, Rogers.”  
“Exercise releases endorphins.”  
“Also, text Wilson. Stop making him worry about you.”

Steve shrugs and trades his towel for some workout clothes. He opens snapchat and takes a quick picture of him saluting and adds the caption “Roger that!” before sending it off to itsybitsyspyder and heading down to the exercise facility.

The gym is empty when he arrives, which is just as well. He’s here to release some endorphins. Gawkers or talkers would be counter productive.

“Jarvis? Can you queue up Tony’s workout playlist?”

The music begins to blast from the speakers, he hums to the melody and mumbles along with the lyrics. The genius does have a good taste in music, even if Sam complains that it's dated. Steve wouldn't know.

He does some light stretches, twisting his body and holding his muscles taut and savoring the looseness when he releases them. He mentally catalogues his body, feeling out where he still detects some tightness that comes along with two days of not leaving his bed for anything but more Cheetos and bathroom breaks, and taking extra time to soothe the knots out with gentle massage and more stretches.

When he feels ready, he steps onto the treadmill and cranks the speed to about half his maximum and spends the first few miles loosening up. Before coming to the Tower, Steve couldn’t get any fulfillment out of running on a treadmill. None of them were powerful enough to keep up with him so he had been forced to do all of his running outside. He loves running outside, but he did not love the odd sense of celebrity that came with. The paparazzi began waiting along his favorite paths, causing him to have to change his usual time and routes often. Running inside has its benefits, but his upper limits exceeded all market available machines. Tony was kind enough to fix that problem.

When he reaches a completely arbitrary number of miles, he cranks up the speed to a much higher setting. He pounds the treadmill so fast he’s unable to think about anything but his feet and his breathing and the poppy 80s beats from Tony’s playlist. There is no room to think about anything else. He does not think about how it’s been five months and they haven’t found Bucky yet. He does not think about the look on his best friend’s face last they met. He cannot relive Bucky’s fall from the train over and over again like he does in his nightmares. All that he can register is the slowly increasing burn in his lungs as he pushes himself to his limits and still tries to push farther beyond that.

Steve begins winding down his workout when the next song to come on Tony’s playlist is The Final Countdown. He’s not sure if that’s considered irony or not. He slows down to a gentle walk, feeling exhausted, though he thinks that has more to do with the memories he was doing his best to outrun rather than physical. He does a few stretches before heading upstairs for another shower.

“Captain Rogers?” Jarvis asks when he steps into the elevator. “You have a guest, shall I let them in?”

“Uh? Who is it?” Steve asks. As answer, Jarvis opens a hologram screen in front of Steve. Critter is faced towards Steve’s apartment door, seated and tail twitching slowly. “Yeah, let her in,” Steve sighs.

The door to his apartment opens and Critter scampers inside.

When he arrives, he finds his phone and opens snapchat again. Natasha sent him a picture of her flipping him off with the tag, “here’s a salute for you too”. He laughs before snapping a picture of himself again, still covered in sweat, with the tag, “#hotanddangerous”.

Then he finds Critter on his bed. He arranges himself so she will appear over his shoulder in the picture on the phone before snapping and sending to falconbigbutt with the tag, “This is not my cat.”

He then locks his phone and strips out of his sweaty clothes on the way to the bathroom. The one thing he doesn’t miss from before the ice is the tenement house kitchen bathtub. Almost anything would have to be better than that piece of history, but the fact that he now has next to endless hot water on tap has got to be as exciting as the internet. Not only is the water hot, but the shampoo scents are pleasant and the soap doesn’t irritate his skin.

He turns the taps to warm and waits a moment before stepping under the spray and washing efficiently before getting right back out. He grabs his towel off the hook and rubs it through his short hair before wrapping it around his waist and exiting the bathroom.

His phone is blinking yellow at him, indicating a new snap. He checks it, and the image that greets him makes his stomach plummet to the floor. Sam’s face is in the forefront of the picture, with a body curled up on the bed over his shoulder similar to how Steve and Critter had been positioned in the original. It takes Steve only a second to read the caption, “tell me about it,” which only confuses him more until he spends the remaining nine seconds realizing that the body is in fact James Buchanan Barnes curled up on Sam’s bed.

Steve, rightfully, freaks out a little.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two things of note:
> 
>   1. [This is not my cat meme](http://www.memes.com/img/590011) information can be found by clicking that link.
>   2. In addition to [Europe - The Final Countdown](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9jK-NcRmVcw&ab_channel=EuropeVEVO), Tony's Playlist would probably include: 
>     * [Joe Esposito - You're The Best Around](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E-WHW-QNswE&ab_channel=wweaccount1)
>     * [Bill Conti - Gonna Fly Now (Theme From Rocky)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ioE_O7Lm0I4&ab_channel=Wardrip06)
>     * [Chariots of Fire](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RY3XiM7oGj0&ab_channel=toisver)
>     * [Survivor - Eye of the Tiger](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=btPJPFnesV4&ab_channel=SurvivorVEVO)
>     * [Paul Engemann - Push it to the Limit](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BhsTmiK7Q2M&ab_channel=Par1drimes)
>     * [The Entirety of ACDC's Discography](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v2AC41dglnM&list=PLSKiP8AuSHijcEVRtse7ucC2Q2JLb5fA2&ab_channel=acdcVEVO)
> 



	3. Chapter 3

Steve’s vision swims and his breathing stops. His heart starts racing, the sick feeling in his stomach intensifies, he feels lightheaded and collapses onto his bed.

Okay. Maybe he freaks out a lot.

Critter starts aggressively headbutting his hand for attention.

The snap times out and Steve is left staring at a blank menu page. His breathing picks up and it feels so close to a panic attack. But now is not the time for panic, so he shoves the feeling down and lifts his phone with the hand that is not appeasing Critter’s need for affection and dials Sam’s number.

“Why didn’t you call me?” Steve asks, though he doesn’t wait for a response before continuing. “Is he still there? What’s happening?”

“Jesus, Steve, relax,” Sam interrupts. “He’s sleeping. That’s all he’s been doing since he got here. I thought sleeping with one eye open was just an expression, but now I know it’s not.” Sam is speaking gently. Steve can’t tell if it’s for his benefit or Bucky’s.

“What happened?” Steve asks again, more forcefully and actually allows Sam to answer this time.

“Don’t know, like I said, he’s been sleeping. Or, pretending to sleep, it’s an artform man - ”

“Sam! Stay on topic,” Steve demands.

“This is on topic! He managed to sneak in while I was cooking dinner. He heard me singing jazz! Badly! I was doing the trumpet thing with my fingers, Steve. Not cool.”

Steve actually pinches the bridge of his nose out of frustration. Critter immediately headbutts his leg, then rears to the height of his hand and nuzzles into his fingers. Steve stands up to avoid the seven pound ball of claws and teeth. “Sam, this is serious.”

“Yeah, as serious as the heart attack I almost had.”

Steve sighs. “I’m coming over,” he decides. _Don’t let him leave_ , he thinks but doesn’t demand out loud. Not likely that Sam could effectively do anything to stop it.

He disconnects the call and quickly finds a pair of pants and a shirt, discarding his wet towel on the bed to worry about later. Critter dances around his feet while he dresses, nearly tripping him. When ready, he picks her up and she settles immediately in his arms. He’s nearly out of his bedroom before his eyes catch his shield and it gives him pause. Ultimately it’s not worth the mental debate about necessity, and he shoves it onto his back and slips his shoes on before making his way out of Avengers Tower and to Sam’s apartment in record time. Critter makes her displeasure known by sinking her claws into Steve’s forearm.

He takes the stairs three at a time, knowing he could beat the elevator four times over, and doesn’t bother knocking when he reaches Sam’s apartment. He doesn’t bust in, but he comes very close.

Sam’s eating shrimp gumbo, sitting on the kitchen side of his peninsula countertop, effectively placing him as far away as possible to his bedroom. Steve slowly shuts the door behind him and toes off his shoes. Sam gives him a nod of hello which Steve returns. Critter wriggles wildly, a request to get down, which Steve can grant now that they’re in Sam’s apartment.

The cat races down the hall, directly through the open door of the bedroom where Steve is assuming Bucky is still lying given Sam’s reaction to drop his bowl and chase after her. Steve joins in and they both stop at the doorway to witness a very brave act by a very stupid cat. Bucky is lying on his stomach with his metal arm curved under the pillow he’s resting his head on which allows Critter to knead his exposed ass before curling up comfortably.

Bucky lifts his human hand to scratch gently under her chin before nuzzling his head deeper into the pillow, all while keeping his eyes shut. “Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” Bucky mumbles against the fabric.

Out of the ensuing stunned silence comes the sound of a camera shutter. Steve whips his head to the left to see Sam with his phone out. Steve punches him lightly on the shoulder.

“What? I was planning to text it to you,” Sam shrugs. “Come on, let Sleeping Beauty do what he does best,” Sam says, gently tugging Steve away from the doorway. “You hungry? I’ve got gumbo,” he offers, much braver now that he has reinforcements.

With all the emotional reactions Steve expected to have, numbness wasn't anticipated. But as Sam drags him by his shirt sleeve to the kitchen, that's all Steve registers. He doesn't want to get his hopes up. The chance that this will go well is very slim. Things are not magically fine now. But the alternative isn't something he wants to dwell on either. So his emotional gear shift is stuck in neutral at least until he has more information.

Sam retrieves another bowl of gumbo for Steve and takes his seat, still as far away from his bedroom as he can get. Steve doesn’t have much of an appetite given the recent events, but pokes at the gumbo with the enthusiasm he usually has for Sam’s cooking. “So what happened?” Steve asks quietly when the silence becomes too loud in his head.

“Man, I don’t know. The only thing I haven’t told you is that I might have peed myself a bit when I found him but otherwise you’re caught up,” Sam says before shoving another spoonful in his mouth.

Steve frowns.

Sam sighs. “Alright, so I was cooking dinner and shook Critter’s dish. She usually comes running out. So when she didn’t, I went to look for her, but instead of a cat chilling out all cozy on my bed, I find your crazy assassin best friend instead. Asshole left his boots on, too,” Sam spits in good humor. “Anyway, that’s when you snapped me. Figured if he was going to kill me he probably already would have. Not like it would have been hard to sneak up on me and my jazz hands.”

“If it makes you feel better, I never considered it,” Bucky says. Steve twists around to see Bucky standing in the doorway with Critter perched majestically across his shoulders. “Is there any gumbo left?” he asks.

“Thought you were sleeping,” Sam says as he pushes himself away from the counter to get a bowl ready for Bucky.

Bucky shrugs and gives a noncommittal grunt. The cat sitting on his shoulder is almost enough to distract from the massive bed head. He has the beginnings of a scruffy beard but that’s where his unkempt appearance ends. His skin isn’t dirty, his clothes look rumpled from sleep but otherwise clean, and he doesn’t look malnourished.

“Stop staring, Rogers,” Bucky says, slight scowl to his features.

Steve snaps his head back to his bowl of gumbo. “Sorry,” he mumbles to the soup. He has to control his face from splitting into a grin. Bucky recognizes him. This visit clearly isn’t an accident.

Sam sets the bowl of gumbo on the counter. “I can find you a chair," he offers, but Bucky is already shaking his head. Critter jumps on the counter when Bucky grabs the bowl. He wolfs down several bites before speaking.

“Look,” Bucky says around a mouthful of gumbo, “I’m putting you in danger by just being here.” 

"What do you mean?" Sam asks when it’s clear Bucky won’t go on without being prompted.

Even with the prompt, it takes a moment before Bucky can gather his thoughts. "I mean. You don't have to help,” he stalls, using a bite of gumbo to cover.

“Of course we’ll help,” Steve steps in. “What’s going on?”

Bucky smiles. It's soft and small but Steve melts all the same. He hasn't seen Bucky’s smile in over 70 years but for the few surviving pictures. It feels really good to see it on his friend’s face. But it also makes Steve take pause and reassess his expectations. Sam spent many conversations reminding Steve that whatever state Bucky comes back in is not the same Bucky from before the train through the Alps.

“The arm. It. I - “ Bucky purses his lips and scowls at himself. “I don’t have the blueprints for it and they never let me see them maintain it,” he says. “But I think there’s a tracker, and I know they can remotely activate it.”

“How do you know?” Sam asks. And God bless Sam Wilson because Steve is too utterly horrified to be useful.

It must show on his face. Bucky’s now looking at his bowl of gumbo, finding the spoon fascinating while he explains. “They have to be in range. But when they are, electric current disables the arm.”

Something about the way Bucky says “disables” makes Steve’s guts squirm.

“Tony can help,” Steve offers. “Hell, he can probably just replace -”

“No,” Bucky says. “I don’t want Tony’s help, I want _your_ help.”

Steve glances between Sam and Bucky. Bucky is still staring at his spoon and Sam is trying to communicate with his eyes in a way that Steve probably should understand by now but daftly refuses to. “But he can,” Steve says petulantly.

“No.”

“Bucky,” Sam says, “we will not do anything you don’t want us to do. This is your choice and we will respect that.”

Bucky claims that there is a HYDRA facility in upstate New York that is likely to at least have some information if not the answers. Over the next few hours, the three of them plan as well as they can with so many unknown variables. Many of the variables, Steve suspects, they would know if Bucky would stop being so cagey about the details. But whenever Steve presses, it makes Bucky uncomfortable, and Sam steps in to play mediator.

Since the arm will become an enormous hindrance once disabled, Steve and Sam will go in to incapacitate and secure the location before Bucky comes in. Steve is mildly surprised at how quickly Bucky agrees, but since he's getting his way he doesn't question it. When Bucky arrives, they will search the facility. He says there was always a chair and a computer, but after that, Bucky isn’t sure what to do.

“If they ever let me see, they made me forget,” Bucky shrugs. And again, something about the phrasing and delivery makes Steve feel queasy.

Bucky leaves after that with a promise to return in the morning. Steve wants to argue. He wants to beg that Bucky stay with him at the Tower, but he stops himself. Sam has reminded him repeatedly through the evening that it’s up to Bucky to decide what he wants. Steve has to respect that, even if it feels wrong to just watch him go, not knowing where he’s got to sleep or if has enough to eat and knowing there’s a tracker in his arm and HYDRA could use it to find him at any time they get in range and that if they do, Bucky will not make it to the Tower tomorrow and then who knows how long it will be before he sees Bucky - alive - again? Maybe never...

Steve tries not to think about it.

Shortly after Bucky leaves, Steve excuses himself. Sam looks like he wants to stop him but ultimately doesn’t. “You okay?” he asks Steve.

“Text you when I get home,” Steve says.

He does and then glances about his apartment, briefly relieved that Bucky did not come home with him. This place is not fit for company. None of the additional rooms are set up as a guest bedroom and all his dishes are currently dirty and scattered around on various surfaces. The relief is short lived, replaced instead by guilt. Guilt over the state of his apartment as well as over being happy Bucky is elsewhere, especially when he knows that elsewhere isn’t safe.

He falls into bed to stare at the ceiling for what feels like hours. Too many questions and stray thoughts about Bucky plague his mind and keep him from sleep. Insomnia is not new but it is inconvenient, made more inconvenient that sleeping pills do not work for super soldiers. Eventually he falls into a fitful sleep.

He wakes with the sun, surprised he was able to sleep even that long. He rolls out of bed and onto the floor for some stretches and light core work to loosen up for the day ahead of him. Then he takes a quick shower and prepares a breakfast smoothie before he dresses and packs his overnight bag. He packs additional underwear, just in case.

The plan is to take Sam’s sensible sedan, partly because Steve still has the death trap on two wheels and would have to ask Tony to borrow something else to seat three people. Bucky vehemently demanded that Tony stay as far away from this mission as possible.

Sam is waiting in the loop when Steve arrives downstairs. Bucky is already seated in the back, behind Sam. Steve gets in the front passenger seat and buckles up at Sam’s reminder.

“It’s going to be a five hour drive,” Sam announces as he pulls into traffic. “Let me know if you need a potty break.”

At first, Steve is interested in the traffic of the city. It’s late enough that they’re missing most of rush hour, but soon the highway makes the scenery monotonous. The monotony definitely draws attention to the silence in the car. Before it can get too quiet, to the point of awkward, Sam saves them all by turning on the radio.

“I got something on my face, Rogers?” Bucky asks, tone clearly irritated.

Steve hadn’t even realized he was staring, but it wasn’t the car behind them he was looking at through the rearview mirror. His cheeks turn pink and he turns his head to look out at the passing trees and green highway markers. But soon enough, the pull to watch Bucky is too much to ignore.

“For fuck’s sake,” Bucky grunts with narrowed eyes and a tight jaw, irritation stepping up to outright annoyance.

“You know what?” Sam sighs, attempting mediation. “We still have four hours to go. Usually I can say something like, ‘don’t make me turn this car around.’ But I can’t today so. Knock. It. Off.”

Steve sinks back into his seat and glares at his hands again.

“Look,” Bucky says, adopting an oddly gentle tone, “I never meant to cut you out. We’ll talk, I promise. After this is over, you can ask me anything you want.” Steve looks up at the mirror when Bucky pauses. “Delayed gratification was never your strong suit,” he smiles.

It's supposed to be a gentle ribbing. Steve knows Bucky doesn't mean anything mean by it. But he's not in the mood to be picked on. “Like you were any better,” Steve mutters darkly.

Steve knows right as the words leave his mouth that it was the wrong thing to say. His sharp tongue makes Bucky’s eyes fall and even Sam turns his head to openly glare at Steve.

A few more miles pass before Bucky offers an olive branch. “Didn’t picture you’d be a cat person.”

Steve scrunches his face in confusion for a moment before the relevance clicks. Critter. “It’s Sam’s neighbor’s,” Steve admits. “Not entirely sure why everyone in the future is so obsessed with cats. Have you seen the internet? Littered with cat memes. Am I pronouncing that right? Memes?”

“Yeah, memes,” Sam confirms.

“They’re hilarious,” Steve says. “Like the one, oh man,” and Steve’s already half laughing just thinking about it, “the one where the cat is walking to this song and he just flails off this building. Gets me every time.”

“Show me?” Bucky asks, producing a smartphone from one of his pockets and leaning forwards over the center console.

The rest of the trip is a blur of various cat videos and light conversation. Steve doesn't pester Bucky about what he remembers from before or what he's been doing since they last met or anything taboo. Over the five months they spent together on the search for Bucky, Sam had been coaching Steve on how to conduct himself once they found the ex-assassin. There are some parts of Bucky’s return that will be easier to navigate than others. Even with the light topics they're discussing, Steve finds himself surprised at how Bucky reacts and holds himself. It makes Steve's heart ache for how much he still misses Bucky, even though he's less than three feet away.

About half an hour outside Lake Placid, they pull over at a truck stop to get a bite to eat and do a last minute review of the plan. Not a whole lot has changed, but it’s good to have a last opportunity to account for new ideas.

They also use the rest stop to suit up. Steve brought one of his stealth suits. It’s a tight fit in the stall once he shuts the door. The suit is actually fairly complicated to put on with all the buckles and zippers to keep it form fitting for maximum protection. Yet, once he has all the buckles in place, something doesn’t feel quite right.

It’s a fraction of a size too big.

Steve shrugs it off. It’s a new suit and hasn’t been laundered yet, so it should fit just fine after a wash or two. For now, he double checks all the buckles, tightens the ones he can, and tucks the pants into his boots before exiting the bathroom.

“Ready?” Steve asks as he climbs into the front passenger seat.

“As I can be,” Sam shrugs.

Bucky doesn’t answer at all. He looks a little green and pale about the gills.

They drive until they reach a service road about a mile out from the facility. Sam parks the car well off the main road and a little ways into the trees off the service road so as not to be seen.

“Use the comm if you need us,” Steve reminds Bucky before he and Sam start walking in the direction of the HYDRA base.

They are still a good distance away to avoid early detection. The trees cover their movements as they make their way closer. The sun is very low in the sky, but still offers more than enough light to see by. There is an edge of tension as they approach the building, waiting for any sign of life.

“Everything’s quiet,” Sam reports through the comms to Bucky.

“Too qui-”

“I swear to god if you finish that sentence,” Sam retorts, cutting Steve off but without a threat to follow up with.

The Avengers Initiative and other intelligences have found many HYDRA bases after the fall of the Triskelion. Most bases blended in almost seamlessly. Bank vaults, Quickie Marts, shipyards, and factories were most of the camouflage. It was very, very rare that the base was solely for HYDRA use.

This building does not give a whole lot of clues for what its day job is. The parking lot is mostly empty. Steve and Sam split up to survey the building from all sides and rendezvous back in the trees. “Natasha would be so much better at this,” Steve laments.

The two agree to wait until the sun fully sets before making any advance on the building, just in case there are any civilians that could get in the crosshairs. Once the sun goes down, the two make their way across the parking lot and to a window that is partly cracked open on the first floor. They had half expected some sort of commotion when they first exit the tree cover, but nothing can be detected yet.

Steve and Sam communicate with a few hand gestures before splitting up to secure the building. They encounter a surprisingly few number of agents. The stealth gig is up fairly quickly though, so the mission does have its excitement. 

One agent in particular is so surprised to find Captain America around the next corner that he actually drops his gun, which accidentally fires and the bullet ricochets off Steve’s shield and into the agent’s thigh. Scrambling to regain control of the situation, the agent pulls a knife from his hip holster. Steve uses his shield to bash the agent’s hand. The agent screams the usual slogan about cutting heads off while Steve mag cuffs him to the heavy office desk. “Might want to put pressure on that,” Steve gestures to the leg that is slowly oozing blood, before leaving to continue securing the building.

Steve and Sam wait long enough to ensure that the never ending supply of goons has ceased before they tell Bucky it’s safe to come in. When he does, he’s stumbling and off balance. Steve makes to help him, but Bucky waves him off through gritted teeth.

“You okay, man?” Sam asks, eyeing up Bucky as they descend the stairs into the basement.

“Yeah,” Bucky bites. “Arm’s disabled. Fucker’s heavy.”

The bank of computers in the basement is reminiscent of the Zola machines back in New Jersey. Thankfully, at least all of these look like they were made after the turn of the century. The chair in the middle of it all, however, looks ominous, especially for how Bucky seems to want to give it a wide berth.

“What are we looking for?” Steve asks when nothing obvious materializes to him.

“Check the computers, there has to be something,” Bucky says. If Steve listens carefully and filters out the gruff edge to his voice and adjusts for Bucky’s jaw clenched so tight his teeth must be nearly cracked, it sounds like begging.

They fully intend to scour the network, but immediately upon waking the screen saver, a little PDF document titled “WS Manual 10.4” appears on the desktop. “Well, that was easy,” Sam shrugs as he double clicks on the icon.

The manual is available in English, German, and Russian. Steve recognizes the formatting from some of the dossiers provided by Natasha and Maria. Steve has only seen a few paragraphs out of this thing so far. He’s not sure if that’s Nat or Maria’s influence preventing him from seeing the full manual, and he also can’t decide if he’s thankful or irritated. There are sections about how to use the chair, cryofreeze, and arm care and maintenance. They use the fancy legend to skip to that section.

Steve wonders what the turnover rate for HYDRA soldiers must be to have picture diagrams and step by step instructions even a six year old could follow.

“So, wait a minute,” Steve pauses them before they get the horse in front of the carriage. “The arm is a _computer_?”

“Looks like,” Sam shrugs.

“What a weird looking computer,” Steve says.

Through the myriad of expressions of discomfort, Bucky actually manages to look offended.

“Okay, so step one, get on the chair and we have to plug some cord into your Sector 2 Port so that we can access the user interface program,” Steve summarizes.

Onerously, Bucky makes his way over to the chair and sits down. He slides one of the sections on his arm up to reveal a port and Steve finds the corresponding plug. The arm is obviously plug-and-play because the screen opens the corresponding user interface program with a little musical note. At the sound, Bucky’s eyes widen and his breathing picks up dramatically.

“You okay?” Steve asks, placing a hand over Bucky’s forearm in a gesture of comfort.

Bucky nods but his demeanor still resembles a trapped rabbit.

“Oh,” Sam says.

“Oh?” Steve asks.

“It’s looking for a password,” Sam reports.

“Oh,” Steve says. “I don’t suppose it’s hydra rulz?”

Sam glares at him. “Obviously not.”

“Okay. What's the manual say?”

Sam reads the manual footnote aloud. “ _In the event of an incorrect password, the arm’s self destruct sequence will be initiated with a sixty minute countdown. The user will have nine additional attempts. A correct password will interrupt the self destruct sequence._ ”

“Why is this a footnote and not in big bold red letters under the section heading?” Steve asks, borderline panicked.

“Come on, be useful. Help me find a post-it. Someone in this organization has got to have been dumb enough to write it down,” Sam suggests.

They were. On the underside of the keyboard, there's a neon green post-it proclaiming “WS pswd” followed by an alphanumeric string 20 characters long.

“Do we trust it?” Sam asks. The question is obviously directed at Bucky, but Steve appreciates being included in the decision regardless.

Bucky nods.

“Are you sure?” Steve can't help but question. He trusts Bucky, always, with anything. But he can't not question a decision that if executed incorrectly could kill them all.

“Just do it,” Bucky grunts, his eyes shut tight.

“You heard the man,” Sam shrugs, but at least he shares Steve's uncertainty.

Still, Steve reads off the characters for Sam to type. Sam asks him to read it off a second time to confirm. And even when he can't stall any more, his hand hovers over the enter button just a second too long before bringing the tip of his finger down harder than necessary.

The screen blinks red and does a little “uh-oh” tune before displaying a clock that starts to count down and a number nine below it. “Self destruct initiated. Self destruct in fifty-nine minutes and fifty-eight seconds,” a computer voice trills over the speaker system.

Icy fear takes over Steve's whole body and he feels weak, red clouding his vision as faint washes over him. The blurry quality lasts only a moment before everything focuses with hyper clarity.

“Okay. There has to be a fail safe even for an incorrect password,” Sam thinks aloud, clearly frantic but trying to contain it for Bucky’s sake. Bucky has started sweating and shaking. “I’ll keep reading the manual, you interrogate one of the goons upstairs.”

Steve is still stuck in panic mode. Sam has to shake his arm and shout, “Steve, _go_ ,” before he can will his jellied legs up the stairs.

Steve races to find the agent strapped to the heavy desk. “The password, what is it?” he shouts, grabbing the agent by his shirt collar.

The agent just laughs. He laughs so hard Steve loses control over his fist. After regaining control, he realizes it had hit the agent square in the nose. Blood surges down the agent’s face and onto Steve’s hand still clutching his shirt collar. “We’re all going to die if you don’t tell me what it is!” Steve screams.

“No, not we,” the agent corrects, nasally and thick. “ _He_ will die. _Self_ destruct.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you were wondering, [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YF1Ov_7FSok&ab_channel=Guddimon) is the cat video Steve was referring to.


	4. Chapter 4

Steve’s whole body goes numb. He’d thought them _all_ dying couldn't get worse, but now it has. He can't let Bucky go alone. Not again. “No,” he says as if that will prevent the sequence of events from playing out. “No, tell me!” he demands, but the agent just laughs.

He laughs and chokes on his blood and laughs some more. Steve wants to hurt the agent, desperately wants to recreate all the tortures they put Bucky through just to wipe the awful, bloody smile off his face. But he's wasting time. The agent's laughs echo through the halls as Steve retreats back downstairs, praying that Sam has found an answer.

He hasn’t.

“What now?” Sam asks, eyeing Bucky who has gone mysteriously calm.

Steve wracks his brain, desperately trying to come up with a solution. His brain sticks heavily on one answer. The answer he’d been suggesting this whole time. The one answer that Bucky desperately begged them not to take.

“Self destruct in fifty-five minutes.”

“Steve,” Sam asks with imploring urgency, looking between Steve and Bucky. “What do we do?”

Steve has no choice. He will not let Bucky die, not when he can stop it. “We call for help,” Steve decides. Bucky can hate him later. Bucky can hate him for this later because Tony will know what to do to stop the self destruct. Bucky can hate him for this later because he will be alive.

Steve hates the look that Sam is giving him, but even for as much as Sam talked a good game of protecting Bucky’s wishes, he doesn't stop Steve from pulling out his phone. All the same, he hesitates, hoping that Sam will have an answer to prevent him from having to make this call. When no solution comes, he dials.

“Steve!” Tony answers on the third ring. “I was just thinking about you. Do you -”

“Stop talking and listen. How soon can you get to our coordinates?”

Tony pauses on the phone. His tone changes entirely when he starts talking again. Trust Tony to understand gravity. “Jarvis calculates by highway about five hours, but I’m assuming by your tone you’re looking for Iron Man so probably twenty minutes. What’s the hap, Cap?”

“We have a,” Steve thinks of a way to put it delicately, “situation.”

“Self destruct in fifty minutes,” says the computerized counter.

“Self destruct is more than just a situation, Caparoo,” Tony says. “I'll be there in fifteen. No Starbucks this time though.”

Tony hangs up without saying goodbye.

“You tell him,” Sam says without any room for arguments.

Bucky is still waiting in the big, black dentist chair. His brow is dripping sweat, his bangs damp and stuck haphazardly about his forehead.

“Buck,” Steve says, pitched so Bucky will hear him as he walks across the small space so as not to frighten him further. “Bucky, it's gonna be okay.”

"Of course it's going to be okay," Bucky mumbles. His sweaty, pain-scrunched features relax a little as he exhales almost peacefully.

The hopeful way Bucky talks makes Steve’s stomach churn - the faith Bucky has in him is palpable. One thing at a time though. “You're not going to die, Buck. We. We called in. Reinforcements.”

Sam clears his throat. Steve spares him a look before turning back to Bucky and trying again. “Tony. We called Tony Stark.”

“No!” Bucky roars with a strength Steve was sure he didn't have. His eyes snap open and focus unseeingly on Steve. “No, please no. Please no, don't. He can't! He'll -” He breaks down into sobs.

“Bucky, it's okay. He's only going to help. Then I promise you never have to see him again,” Steve says. He steps a little closer and puts a comforting hand on Bucky’s shoulder.

Bucky startles and flails, slamming his fist directly into Steve's nose. A blooming pain and the disgusting wet crunch confirms it's broken. “Bucky! Bucky, calm down!” he garbles around the pain and fresh flow of blood.

Bucky continues to flail a moment, ineffectual with the dead hunk of impossibly heavy metal weighing him down. With a final scream of frustration, he stills, but continues to heave cumbersome breaths.

“He's the only one who can help, Buck, and I promise that's all he'll do. I'll be right here, the whole time. But you don't get to die on me now. Not now,” Steve says, voice thick with blood and tears. The most painful thing he's ever experienced in his whole life is witnessing Bucky be so helpless and scared. But he will not let Bucky die. Not like this. Not when he can stop it. Not when he has a second chance to catch him.

Steve uses the rest of the time waiting for Tony’s arrival to comfort Bucky as best he can. He’s still confused as hell why Tony of all people is causing this reaction. Tony is weird - eccentric even - but he’s basically harmless. And if nothing else, Bucky does have a tank for an arm so the odds would be nearly even. That said, Steve might not understand the why, but he does understand the reaction itself. Or at least as much as he can understand a brainwashed POW’s reaction to stressors. At least he gets an approving hum from Sam for his efforts.

When Tony arrives, Bucky has slipped back into the semi-catatonic state. “Air speed record, my friends. Probably. I’d have to check the rule book,” Tony says as he saunters into the room.

“Tony,” Steve says and makes an attempt to get up, but Bucky grips his hand tight so he stays put. “There’s thirty-six minutes to go. Help him. Please.”

Having his attention drawn to the chair, and therefore Bucky, makes Tony pause imperceptibly before recovering with an offended gasp and grip to his sternum. “I could run this clock down to a minute and _still_ make it under time. But I won’t because I’m not an asshole. Or, at least not that big of one.”

Tony gets to work. His self indulgent monologues start fishing for compliments which Sam humors, Steve is indifferent to, and Bucky outright ignores. Bucky’s odd behavior does draw some attention though. Twelve minutes later, the password ticker disappears and the computer makes a “yay” tune and finishes opening the program properly.

They all sigh in relief. Except Bucky. The ex-assassin continues to look as if he’s expecting death to come and deliver him.

“Yo, tall, dark, and starched. I cut the green wire, you’re not going to explode anymore. Why are you still so stiff?” Tony asks in his usual insensitive manner.

Sam glares. It is ineffective.

“Leave him alone,” Steve demands, unconsciously squeezing Bucky’s hand.

“Look, I mean no disrespect,” Tony says. He's interrupted by snorts of derision from all corners of the room. “Why does everyone expect the worst out of me?” he asks with a pout. “I can be diplomatic. For example, recent example even, I helped Stretch over here even though he committed a matricide-patricide combo all over my parents.”

Steve's eyes widen and he can't help the comical double take between Tony and Bucky. Bucky’s demeanor confirms the truth behind Tony’s words. Steve is not surprised that Bucky has killed people. Many assassinations over the last few decades have now been attributed to the Winter Soldier. Many others are unconfirmed.

But most of those kills until now had been names on a page to Steve. To now know that the Winter Soldier was responsible for the killings of someone so close, to have done something so personal, makes him queasy and sick. Not just for himself, or even for the loss of his friend Howard, but for Tony.

“Why didn't you tell me?” Steve says. He can't help but feel cheated that this information was kept from him.

“Don't get your panties in a bunch, Cap,” Tony says. “Not everything is about you.” Tony pinches his nose. “Wow, of all the conversations I expected to have after defusing a literal bomb. Now I have to defuse a metaphorical one. My life, I tell you. Look. Bucko. Mind if I call you Bucko? I obviously had mixed feelings about my father which you might not know the full extent of given your, well, lack of agency and various brainwashing. But he’s dead now. I don't blame you. But more importantly, I don't want to talk about it. C’est la vie.”

The relief that sweeps over Bucky is measurable, but minute. A handful of words could never fix all the guilt Bucky clearly feels, but it’s a start and a good one, too. Especially when Tony follows it up with, “Now let’s see about fixing all the inhumane code. Were you all aware that your friend has been experiencing low-grade electric shock therapy this whole time? And by low-grade, I mean enough to knock a horse on its ass. Someone find me some coffee. I like my horror with a side of caffeine.”

Tony works well into the wee hours of the morning. At one point he comments, “You know, Bucko, I can do more than just fix this code. I can probably come up with some fancy gadgetry to accessorize you with. You know, in case you want to follow me home like a little duckling.”

Tony’s general Tony-ness is having a surprisingly positive effect on Bucky.

“Are you calling me homeless?” Bucky asks.

“No!” Tony says as if the implication mortally offended him. “I’m merely suggesting that you look like someone who shops at Target.”

“That’s rich from someone who has his girlfriend dress him,” Steve says, earning a fist bump from both Sam and Bucky.

“Touché,” Tony concedes.

“Good thing, too. Otherwise it would be white undershirts and tacky, acid wash jeans as far as the eye can see,” Sam adds.

“Now there’s a fashion statement I can get behind,” Tony says. None of them can tell if he’s serious or not.

They’re as finished as they need to be just before dawn, at which time Tony confesses to sending a ping via Jarvis to call Happy for a chauffeur service and Hill for a cleanup. Happy is waiting for them in the loop when they trudge upstairs.

“But what about my car?” Sam asks.

“I’ll buy you a new one,” Tony says.

“Do not get blood on my seats,” Happy warns Steve after eyeing up the ring of blood staining the collar of his suit from his broken nose. And probably smeared all over his face; he has yet to see a mirror for confirmation.

Bucky eyes him sympathetically. He opens his mouth but Steve cuts him off, “Don't. Accidents happen.”

The drive back is mostly quiet. Sam passes out ten minutes down the road and Tony plays with his StarkPad. Steve doesn't know what to say. Bucky doesn't say anything.

Then Steve sneezes. A giant clot of blood spills out of his nose and the snotty mist is tinged red.

“Well, that's almost the grossest thing I've ever seen. Except you should see the discharge this thing gives off,” Tony says, tapping on the arc reactor embedded in his chest. “It has been known to crust my shirts together. And the _smell_.”

Steve groans as his nose settles out of the flair of pain.

“That… that's happened before, hasn't it?” Bucky says, interrupting Tony’s incessant chatter. Tony pays him no mind and continues to jabber on.

Steve looks at him quizzically. “What’s happened before?”

Bucky looks lost in thought a moment, but not in the blank way he looked back in the chair. “Yeah,” he smiles after a moment, like he's strung the appropriate memories together. “You were in a fight. And I was going to take you to the pictures to take your mind off it. But you sneezed on the ticket window.”

Steve’s whole face lights up. He ignores the way his smile hurts his mending nose. “Yeah!” he agrees. “I remember that.”

“They thought you had TB,” Bucky continues, face scrunched like he's really focusing on the details. “So they wouldn't let you in. I bought us chocolate egg creams instead.”

“And you stole half of mine,” Steve complains, slipping into an old argument, just like a glove.

“You never finished them anyway!” Bucky complains.

“Could have saved it for later.”

Steve almost mumbles along with Bucky’s next scripted line. “Egg creams don't keep.”

Maria is waiting for them as they arrive back at the Tower and immediately steals Tony away for business. Tony puts on a disgruntled face, but, like most of him, it’s just for show.

Pepper is next, waiting with a wheelchair. “Oh, Steve,” she croons, touching her mouth with her hand to hide her worried expression.

“Oh come on. A broken nose doesn't in any way impair the use of my legs,” Steve complains. Yet somehow he still finds himself being pushed by Pepper into the elevator to the medical wing.

Tony had one of the floors repurposed into a state of the art medical facility, but the actual need for a full time doctor was not something he could justify to the board of directors or Pepper, regardless of all the superhero activities perpetrated under the Avengers Initiative. So with a compromise, Doctor Aliyah Hakim was hired as the on call doctor for the Avengers.

“What seems to be the trouble?” she asks.

“Broken nose,” Steve reports dutifully. “But it’s healed now so we can all go home,” Steve says, clapping his hands together in fake excitement.

“Not so fast, I have to see the injury before I can sign off,” Doctor Aliyah says with a tiny shake to her head. “Hop up on the bed and let’s take a look. And in the interest of HIPAA, would you like any of the present company to vacate?”

“No,” Steve answers her question, standing from the wheelchair to make his way to the paper-lined bed while she washes her hands.

Doctor Aliyah approaches swiftly, doing some complicated interpretive dance style movements with her hands to activate two hologram screens. From the drawers next to the bed she retrieves a pair of latex gloves and an electrode. She slips the gloves on before unwrapping the plastic for the electrode and attaches the sticky pad to Steve’s neck. The first screen lights up with his vitals - blood pressure, pulse, breathing rate, and temperature, all within normal limits. The second screen flashes a moment, then reveals an xray of his face.

She spends a moment looking at the screen, then turns to him and places her hands on his head to position him for inspection. “Any residual pain?” she asks, making eye contact briefly before returning to her inspection.

“Not anymore,” Steve says with a shrug of his shoulders.

“Any troubles breathing?”

“Not anymore,” Steve reports again.

“Well, the x-ray is clean and if there’s no pain, you’re probably fine. Care instructions are rest, ice, acetaminophen for any pain, elevate your head even when sleeping, and don't blow your nose. Any questions?”

“Nah, pretty self explanatory,” Steve answers. “Is that all?”

She peels the electrode off his neck and nods. “If anything changes, you have my number.”

Steve grins at the other three standing before him. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

“I have paperwork to sign off for Doctor Aliyah,” Pepper says. “Go on, I’ll see you later.”

Sam and Bucky flank Steve to the elevator. “My floor, Jarvis?” Steve asks the AI, glancing at both Bucky and Sam to gage their reaction.

Bucky remains unreadable but doesn’t protest. Sam passes Steve’s shield and overnight bag to Bucky, “I’m headed home. I’ve got a shower with my name on it and I’m sure Critter misses me by now.”

The elevator dings. Bucky and Steve exit with a wave to Sam, who promises to catch up at the Successful Mission Celebration Party that Tony usually throws. They’re fun and help build morale, but also gaudy and outrageous. At least for the team building parties he’s not expected to wear a suit, either the Captain America one or the nice tailored black number Pepper purchased him for the benefits she sometimes drags him to.

The doors slide shut and now, for the first time since Bucky’s arrival, he and Bucky are absolutely alone. There’s a horrifying swooping feeling in Steve’s belly, not dissimilar to how he feels when jumping from an airplane without a parachute. And then that feeling intensifies at least three fold when he remembers the state of his apartment.

“Well?” Bucky asks, expectantly. “You gonna invite me in?”


	5. Chapter 5

“I don’t, um, usually have visitors,” Steve defends himself before opening the door to his apartment. A staggering amount of dirty dishes and takeout containers cover all available surfaces and at least three loads of laundry could probably be picked up off the floor.

“Jesus, Steve,” Bucky barks, Brooklyn accent coming on thick.

Steve’s cheeks heat in embarrassment. He reaches for some dishes, noting how there’s just the beginnings of fuzzy growth, but Bucky stops him. “Go wash up,” he orders, taking the plate from Steve’s hand.

“Buck,” Steve starts to protest.

“Go on,” Bucky insists.

Steve hesitantly drops his arm and takes a cautious step forward, eyes still on Bucky. A shower sounds fantastic. A shower would cure the itchiness caused by sweat and dried blood. A shower would be step one of his usual routine after a mission. Step two involves the gallon of salted caramel ice cream in the freezer, but right now he would not have even considered going through with his routine if Bucky weren’t quite literally shooing him towards the bathroom.

Bucky sighs and lowers his eyes. “I promise I’ll be here when you get back,” he says.

Steve won’t admit that he was worried. But the reassurance is the only thing that makes him stop dragging his feet.

The shower is glorious, but it is also the fastest shower Steve has taken since his boot camp days. He towels off equally as quick before finding a pair of sweats he has to tighten the drawstring on and a t-shirt he hopes is clean and rejoining Bucky in the living room.

Except Bucky isn’t in the living room. Neither is his laundry, dishes, or any of the takeout boxes.

If it weren’t for the general tidy the room had received, but mostly the sound of the kitchen sink running water, Steve would be worried that Bucky broke his promise. “You don’t have to clean up after me,” Steve grouses.

“I’ve always cleaned up after you,” Bucky says, matter of fact. “Now go sit down, I’m almost done.”

Tenement housing was hardly what the future considers “open concept”, but Steve used to sit and read in the living room while Bucky washed the dishes after dinner. Steve could watch Bucky over his book through the narrow walkway bookmarked by two plain support pillars. Steve had to sit in the perfect spot to be able to see him, though, as the pillars blocked most of the view unless he was sitting on their ugly sofa, "recycled" from next to the dumpster that had cat scratches and a questionable stain.

Tony spared no expense when designing the living quarters. There are no pillars to block Steve’s view and he can see Bucky’s face instead of his ass.

Steve is sucked from his reverie when a package of frozen vegetables smacks his chest before falling in his lap. The tenement layout would not have been conducive to successfully throwing a bag of frozen peas. “For your face,” Bucky says, wiping his wet hands on a dish towel before coming to join Steve in the living room.

The natural way that Bucky joins Steve on the couch is consistent with the Bucky in Steve’s memories, but at total odds with how Bucky acted just a few hours ago. It might be significant. But maybe not. Maybe Steve is just overthinking. It’s a character flaw, and certainly not an endearing one. 

“Well?” Bucky asks, gesturing to the peas still sitting in Steve’s lap.

“Do you want to shower?” Steve offers, putting the bag over his nose, but holding it so he can still see.

“That’s not how I thought this conversation was going to go,” Bucky shrugs, tiny smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.

And Steve can’t keep the blush from creeping up his cheeks. “No, I just. I mean. I have one,” Steve clarifies, blushing harder at his inability to string a proper sentence together.

Bucky laughs.

“Oh shove it,” Steve flippantly responds, jabbing his toes into Bucky’s shin.

“Thanks, but I’ll shower after we eat.”

“What’re we eating?” Steve asks, the reminder of food making him intimately aware of how hungry he is.

“All you had was Hungry Man meals or frozen pizza, so. Frozen pizza,” Bucky says.

“Okay,” Steve agrees, mildly embarrassed at the state of his life.

The pizza timer dings.

Bucky gets up to deal with it. Steve watches as Bucky takes the pizza out and searches a few drawers before finding the pizza cutter. He dishes up two plates, each with half the pizza before returning. Bucky takes a seat exactly where he was before.

They eat quietly for a moment before Bucky breaks the silence. “I’m sorry, Stevie,” Bucky starts. “This isn’t easy for me.”

Steve opens his mouth to express that it doesn't have to be, that no one expects it to be. But before he can get out a syllable, Bucky is talking a mile a minute.

“I wasn’t trying to, I,” Bucky stammers, clearly trying to get his thoughts together. “This isn’t, I don’t. It’s…” he trails off in starts and stops.

Steve tries to spare his attempts. “It’s okay, Buck, you don’t have to -”

“No, let me finish,” Bucky demands. Not rude, not harsh, but insistent. “I know I can’t expect things to be the same after what I’ve done. I, I tried to kill you and. And if you don’t treat me different because of that, you’re dumber than I thought. All the other things that I’ve done, well, I don’t think I could ever make up for them.” He smiles at Steve, softly and more self deprecating than Steve cares for. 

Bucky’s voice goes small and quiet. “But I want to come home. I’m not the same, won’t ever be, but you’re the only thing I’ve got.” He looks almost frightened at his own admission. But he looks like he has more to say, so Steve lets him go on. “And if you don’t want me here, I’ll go. I’ve lived with less. But right now, I need you.”

The confession leaves Steve speechless. None of this is _new_ , Steve knows. He’s read the files, he was _there_ for some of it. But sometimes, having it spelled out is the only way to get it through his thick skull. Bucky might be different than he was before but he's fundamentally the same. He still needs Steve. Just like Steve needs Bucky.

“Say something,” Bucky asks. Begs.

“Bucky,” he says, so watery and broken he’s not sure it comes out right, “you always have a home with me.”

“Rogers, you sappy fuck,” Bucky says, but his smile is so big it hides the water trickling down his own face.

Steve hums and sniffs a minute to recuperate from the admission. They're both unused to showing this much emotion. So Steve breaks the moment, “Go shower, you smell like my socks.”

“Fine,” Bucky says, shoving his last entire slice of pizza in his mouth. “Take care of the dishes?” he requests, mostly garbled by the half chewed mass.

“Yeah, yeah. Towels are under the sink.”

Steve collects the plates and walks to the kitchen to wash them. His drying rack is completely full from where Bucky had done the dishes earlier. He takes a minute to put them away while he waits. Bucky returns shortly, wearing clothes appropriated from Steve’s closet.

Between the mission and the all-nighter, eventually the two of them are stifling yawns and decide to turn in for the night.

Part of the reason Steve holds off on the conversation surrounding the bed situation for so long is because he’s not sure how to bring up the sleeping arrangements. Back in the tenement house, Steve and Bucky shared a bed. They only had one bedroom between them anyway, and it was barely large enough for one bed and a dresser. Originally when they got the place, Steve intended to sleep on the couch since Bucky was the reason they could afford it to begin with, but Bucky had put his foot down. Regardless of the discount provided by his uncle, they still paid equal so they deserved equal, he said. Still, on nights when Bucky would bring a dame home, Steve slept on the couch with the questionable stain until Bucky walked her home and then Steve would climb in the empty bed waiting for Bucky’s return.

It was nice in the wintertime since Steve didn’t have enough substance to keep warm at night between the drafty window and the insufficient boiler. But it was hell in the summer when more often than not they’d find themselves on the fire escape instead.

But he does not want to be presumptuous that Bucky would want to continue that arrangement with him after what he’s been through. And since he lacks guest bedroom furniture, Steve insists that Bucky take his bed. Bucky refuses and takes the couch instead. Courtesy makes Steve offer a few more times before admitting defeat and retrieving some blankets and an extra pillow from the closet.

“Goodnight,” Steve says and retires to his bed where even though moments before he was too tired to keep his eyes from drooping, he is unable to sleep. He curls on his side and closes his eyes. Deep breath in, deep breath out.

The city noises don’t reach this high in the Tower, which was something to get used to. Early century New York noises have nothing on this new New York. The sounds of the city are so different they're nearly incomparable. But the Tower blocks all noises, period. At least the apartment in DC wasn't completely silent.

He tries to sleep, but isn't surprised to see the clock advance an hour while he waits. Giving up, Steve gets out of bed and heads to the kitchen for the ice cream from the freezer. He doesn’t turn on any lights and moves dead silent. The suction release from the freezer is the only indication he’s out of bed. But as he turns to retrieve a spoon, his eyes scan the room to see Bucky looking at him.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you,” Steve apologizes.

“You didn’t,” Bucky shrugs.

“Oh,” Steve says. Bucky couldn’t sleep either. Not surprising, but mildly comforting that some of his difficulties are as obvious as Steve’s moldy dishes. “Do you want some?” Steve offers, tilting the salted caramel ice cream towards Bucky.

“You were going to eat that straight from the carton, weren’t you?” Bucky accuses.

“Guilty,” Steve admits.

“Bring me a spoon,” Bucky says.

Steve grabs two spoons from the drawer and joins Bucky on the couch. “I have Netflix,” Steve offers.

The two decide on a documentary. The soothing narrator voice makes it easy to settle in and clink spoons together as they eat the ice cream. “Remember when chocolate was the most exciting flavor?” Bucky asks, tongue thick and uncooperative in his mouth for the cold ice cream he lets melt before swallowing.

“Mmm,” Steve nods with a slow smile.

“Come here,” Bucky beckons, gently tugging on Steve’s shirt to move him.

Bucky takes the spoon from Steve’s hand and gently pushes him to lie down on the couch before getting comfortable and spooning him from behind. Finally, sleep washes over them.


	6. Chapter 6

Steve wakes slowly from the best sleep he’s had in a long time. Bucky’s arm is loosely hanging around Steve’s hip, his hand gently rubbing at Steve’s belly. “Morning,” Steve mumbles.

“Morning,” Bucky grunts, voice rough with sleep.

Steve extracts himself from Bucky’s grip, standing up to stretch before he takes the empty ice cream carton to the kitchen trash and flips the switch on the coffee maker. “Ugh, I need to go shopping,” Steve complains after checking his fridge for general breakfast items. “I have poptarts?” he offers.

Bucky takes the poptart without verbal complaint, but the look on his face says all it needs to. “Any plans today?” he says around the dry pastry.

“Eh, probably spar with Natasha. Maybe some shopping. Then there’s that party Tony throws, so I’m sure we'll have to make an appearance,” Steve shrugs. “You?”

“Fixing _this_ ,” Bucky says meaningfully gesturing at his general body mass, indicating Steve’s appropriated clothes fitting just slightly _wrong_ on his frame.

“How’re you gonna...pay for that?” Steve asks, feeling incredibly awkward for asking the question.

Bucky rolls his eyes. “I’ll find a way,” he says cryptically.

Steve remembers at least one winter that he _knows_ they didn’t have extra for a new coat to replace the ratty, torn up one he got from a donation center, but Bucky brought him home a brand new, correctly sized, very warm one anyway. Steve had been suspicious, but Bucky swore it was an early Christmas bonus.

“Take my credit card,” Steve offers. Bucky makes a skeptical face. “No, really. I’m loaded now. Military back pay for seventy years is more than I could ever spend,” Steve says.

There will be a time to visit the idea of getting Bucky’s MIA status adjusted and get his own back pay, but now is probably not that time. Stark’s lawyers have been on standby since Steve started the search for Bucky all those months ago. In that time, they have already started researching and creating a defense for the inevitable trial. Steve and Tony might not always see eye to eye, but Steve is forever appreciative that Tony doesn’t hold a grudge against the actions of a brainwashed assassin.

After breakfast, Bucky leaves with Steve’s credit card and Steve changes into his workout clothes. Strangely, the elastic feels very loose, barely keeping the material above his waist. He ties the string tightly and descends the stairs to the exercise facility.

Natasha is practicing gymnastic style acrobatics when Steve arrives. Not wanting to interrupt, he stretches until she’s ready for him.

Bucky Barnes taught Steve enough fighting skill to not get knocked out. There wasn’t much Bucky knew how to teach Steve since the things that worked for Bucky could never have worked for Steve at the time because of his unfortunate size. Peggy Carter was a large influence on his fighting style since what worked for her also worked for him quite well for the same reasons Bucky’s tips didn’t. But he spent such little time with her before his transformation, there was only so much she could teach him before he began to rely heavily on the shield and brute force to fight his battles for him. Which works, for the most part. His enhanced reflexes, strength, agility, healing, and various other abilities gained by the serum put him head and shoulders above the competition in most venues.

But Natasha regularly surprises him with the things she can teach him. During the Battle of New York, it became obvious how well they could work together. They routinely train together to perfect their teamwork. Still, he wishes she’d teach him how she climbs her targets like a tree and chokes them with her thighs. He just hasn’t figured out the right way to ask where her answer isn’t immediate laughter and mockery.

“Rogers,” Natasha says.

He nods hello and goes over to her space, ready to begin when she is.

But she doesn’t. Her face is knit tight, assessing Steve in a way that makes him immediately self conscious. “What’s different about you?” she asks.

“Uh? Nothing?” he says.

Her eyes scan him again, scrutinizing him. “You sure?” she asks.

“Yeah,” he nods.

“Well, if you’re sure,” she says, infuriatingly insistent.

“Yes!” Steve shouts. And with that she leaps at him and uses her momentum to flip him on his back. The air rushes from his lungs. “I wasn’t ready,” he gasps.

“Mulligans?” Natasha asks with a quirked eyebrow and judgmental stare. Steve doesn’t verbally answer and instead lifts her into an incapacitating hold. “That’s the spirit!” she grunts, struggling to free herself.

Sparring with Natasha is a gamble. Steve obviously has to pull his punches just a bit, but if he pulls them too much, she retaliates by fighting dirtier. 

Both of them notice when Clint enters the training space, noisily eating his puppy chow despite all the NO FOOD signs plastered on every wall. He sits on the boxing ring wall and watches while Nat kicks Steve’s ass for the third time in a row.

“Stop pulling your punches!” she yells, face close enough to his ear to make it start ringing.

“I’m not!” Steve yells back, not as effective.

“Want some puppy chow?” Clint offers, pointing to Steve and Nat, making a closed duckbill to his mouth, and then pointing to Steve and Nat again. Steve rolls his eyes. Nat releases Steve’s neck to grab a handful. “You look different, man. You been working out?” Clint giggles and throws a puppy chow at Steve’s head.

“Oh god, not you too!” Steve complains, pushing up to knock Natasha off his back. She flails dramatically to the floor. “I’m done getting my ass kicked for the day,” he says.

He was clumsy, slow, and generally off his game. He's lucky Nat mistook it for pulled punches. Natasha is very good at what she does. Her skill does not take away from his skill. He’s also good, but the fact that she was consistently better gives him pause. He’s filled with super serum that should make him better than her. Not that he has anything against being beaten by her, she is a worthy opponent. But this was far from normal. Something wasn’t right, but he has absolutely no idea what. His body is fine, no aches or pains, but he just wasn’t up to his usual snuff.

He goes to the bathroom to take a shower. On exit, he stares in the mirror, naked but for his towel, inspecting his reflection for the weirdness but unable to see it.

The sound of the front door opening breaks his concentration. “Hey!” Steve hollers.

“Hey,” Bucky calls back.

“How was shopping?” he asks, conversationally.

Bucky makes noises like he’s coming closer to the bathroom. “Why are there so many different types of jeans? And why does every sales person want me to try all of them on to check my _ass_ ets?”

Steve huffs a laugh. Bucky appears in the mirror, leaning on the doorframe. “Hey, Buck?” he asks, turning to face Bucky head on. “Do I look weird to you?”

Bucky ponders a moment, studying Steve in much the same way Nat had earlier. “Yeah,” Bucky determines, “you have a little something right there,” and gestures to Steve’s entire body.

“You just pointed to all of me,” he says, turning back to the mirror to look again, trying again to figure out what everyone else is seeing that he can't. “Be serious, Buck.”

The raised eyebrow look Bucky gives through the mirror effectively translates to, _I’m always serious_. He gives Steve another once over look before suggesting, “I dunno. I mean, yeah you look different. But I also haven’t seen you in five months, give or take seventy years, so... I’m not the best judge. Maybe you’re just tired?”

Steve makes a noncommittal hum. “Maybe.”

“Oh, quit your worrying. Are you done primping, Princess? Because, if so, I could put on a fashion show for you,” Bucky says, trying for levity.

The montage of clothing Bucky tries on does relieve some of the anxiety Steve feels. Bucky purposefully making obnoxious super model struts down the hallway towards the breakfast counter Steve is eating lunch at almost makes him choke on his chicken and corn Hungry Man.

The fashion show does give Steve all available options to help Bucky pick an attire for the party: black jeans, a soft gray button down, and slightly darker gray scarf to complete the look. Steve wears a dark denim jean and blue button down, noting that both feel a little loose. He tightens his belt another notch and the two leave for the communal floor of Avengers Tower.

They arrive early, but the appetizers and drinks are already being circulated and the DJ is setting up. Steve tries to help the decorators with the flower arrangements and table cloths, but after he tips over the second confetti pot, Pepper comes to guide him to the mini cocktail wieners he has a weakness for as a distraction.

Thor arrives. They can see the comet streak out of the sky to the roof shortly before the elevator dings and he steps in the room and immediately begins hugging everyone, including the staff. After a pleading look from Pepper, Steve goes to redirect Thor’s enthusiasm.

“Thor, come meet Bucky,” Steve says, putting a hand on Thor’s shoulder to guide him over to the appetizer table.

Tony arrives next, immediately striding over to the three congregating near the snack table. “Thor!” he greets, “Safe travels, I hope?”

“Mjolnir is the safest of vehicles,” Thor replies.

Then Tony’s eyes land on Steve and for at least the third time today, scrutinizing eyes study him. Tony says, “Cap, you’ve shrunk.”

“That’s what’s different!” Natasha says from two tables over where she somehow snuck in unnoticed.

“Maybe his bones are settling because he’s so old,” Clint giggles and offers his hand for a fist bump from Natasha.

“Shrinking?” Steve asks defensively, “You sure this has nothing to do with your Napoleon Complex?”

Tony narrows his eyes at Steve. “No,” he pouts. Then shakes himself as if to return the serious adult in him before continuing, “I mean it, you’re literally shrinking. You used to come up to Thor’s eyes, now you’re barely coming up to his nose.”

Steve glances in Thor’s general direction and sizes up the height difference, noting that maybe he is looking more up than usual. How had he not noticed before? He’s been talking to Thor for at least five minutes. “Not possible. I mean, people don’t just shrink.”

Tony looks at him skeptically. Actually, everyone looks at him skeptically. “And aliens don’t just fall out of the sky!” Clint says, helpfully.

“Clint, no one can tell whose side you are on,” Nat says.

“Do I have to pick?” Clint asks.

Ignoring him completely, Steve turns to Tony. “Okay,” he says slyly with a smirk. Tony shrinks back and raises his arms protectively as Steve advances on him. “If I were shrunk, could I do this?” he asks, pulling Tony’s arm and then the whole man above his shoulders like a victorious warrior would a trophy.

“Pepper!” Tony screams, but the lady in question promptly ignores the scene before her to take a glass of champagne offered by Maria Hill. She is sporting a Disapproving Face but makes no move to interrupt the fun.

“Just don’t break anything,” she warns Steve. He grins sheepishly and begins to strut around the room with his prize.

“Traitor!” Tony calls at her general direction since he can no longer see her for the victory lap Steve is taking. “Rhodey! Happy!” Tony beseeches next, fervently struggling above Steve’s head.

Rhodey waves them off and joins Pepper and Maria for that glass of champagne. Happy rushes over to help Tony, which begins a game of Keep Away played between Steve, Thor, and Happy, which ends when Tony threatens to call his suit.

Steve sets Tony on the floor and pulls him into a bro hug. “No hard feelings?”

Tony makes a noncommittal hum, still eyeing Steve suspiciously but keeping his opinions to himself for fear of retaliation.

Thor has brought enough Asgardian mead for Steve and Bucky. This results in various drinking games breaking out. A game of Who Am I starts but quickly falls flat when Thor insists on writing famous warriors from Asgard on the card that no one knows. Charades also begins and ends in a similar fashion when Clint and Natasha take the lead so far ahead of anyone else it’s shameful.

Cards Against Humanity turns out to be a big hit. Steve surprises everyone but Bucky with his bitter sarcasm. Sam cannot contain his laughter, claiming it’s almost as funny as the time his niece convinced Grandma Wilson to play.

Between the dancing and the games, the party easily goes well into the wee hours of the morning. Clint is staggeringly drunk. “Who wants to take the hawk back to his nest?” Tony asks, proud of his pun.

Everyone groans. Clint signs alphabetical F in front of his chest with the loop of his fingers facing up, then interlocks the fingers on both hands like gears. Steve steps forward, but is subverted by Nat, who easily pulls the archer over her shoulder in a fireman’s carry. Clint chokes on a laugh and moves his arm as if to start tapping on Nat’s ass. “Barton, if you do what I think you’re going to do, you will regret it.”

Clint sighs, but the effect is lost slightly for the enormous belch he releases.

“Aw, remember when I used to have to carry you home like that?” Bucky asks, watching Nat walk away reverently.

“Yeah, but you always let me play ass bongos,” Steve says.

“I could write a book about the things I didn’t need to know about Captain America,” Sam grumbles. Bucky and Steve share a serious look before bursting into uncontrollable laughter.

The party has mostly wound down. Those capable of helping clean do. Tony reminds them that’s what he pays people for and Pepper hushes him with a flirtatious kiss, then pulls him by the hand behind her, winking at the remaining guests as the elevator doors close behind them.

Once the worst of the damage is handled, Steve and Bucky make their way to Steve’s floor. Tonight’s routine for sleep goes much easier, though that may have to do with the alcohol still gently buzzing through his system. “Come to bed with me?” Steve asks bravely as he undresses walking down the hall.

Bucky shakes his head gently at Steve’s antics and follows him, picking up the discarded clothing as he goes. Steve is just in his boxer briefs on top of the sheets when Bucky arrives in the bedroom doorway. He watches him a moment, Steve looks genuinely happy as he lay splayed out on the bed. It’s reminiscent of times long passed. Summers where it was too warm to do anything but sweat or the fevers that ran so hot Bucky couldn’t keep Steve in his clothes no matter how much he tried. But this is neither. Similar, but not the same.

“You coming?” Steve asks, more mumbles than words as the giddy drunken state has turned him to mushy pliancy.

“Yeah,” Bucky says, making his way to the bed. “Scoot,” he says, making Steve shove to one side instead of sprawling out. Steve complies, curling up on his side. The bed dips gently, but Steve hardly notices. He’s fading fast, tired for the late hour and the comfortable bed.

Bucky slides up behind him and curls an arm around Steve’s hip, offering warmth that Steve craves. Steve’s so relaxed, so close to sleep, that he can’t be sure if he’s imagining the soft press of Bucky’s lips to the back of his neck.

“Goodnight,” Bucky whispers.

Steve doesn’t respond, doesn’t notice, already out like a light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Clint's [namesign](http://www.lifeprint.com/asl101/pages-layout/namesigns.htm) for Tony is [Asshole](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IbzmLFQeq6Y&ab_channel=thfemale) [Machine](http://www.lifeprint.com/asl101/pages-signs/m/machine.htm). I am by NO MEANS an expert on ASL, so let me know if I need to adjust my description.


	7. Chapter 7

Sleep had been a losing battle since the mid-morning sun began to reflect off _something _and shine directly into Steve’s eyes. Then it was impossible to escape the body heat Bucky was radiating while he had his octopus arms trapping Steve to him. And now, Steve has to pee.__

Too uncomfortable to remain in bed, Steve clumsily extracts himself from Bucky and the sea of blankets primed to swallow him.

Upon standing, his underwear drop to the floor. Not awake enough to care, he rolls his eyes and steps out of them on his way to the bathroom. He pees, shakes, and turns to leave, catching a look at himself in the mirror.

His reflection is so shocking it takes a moment for what he's seeing to sink in. His biceps no longer look like bulging footballs. His stomach is drastically slimmer. His ribs are noticeable through his skin. 

He's _shorter_.

“Oh _shit_ ,” he says. “Bucky!” he shouts, turning to run out of the bathroom. “Bucky I’m shrinking!”

Bucky twists sleepy slow to glance where Steve exits the bathroom, rubbing the grit out of his eyes to look. Still groggy and not quite yet able to grasp the seriousness of the situation, he jokes, “ _That’s_ not shrinking.”

“Bucky!” Steve shouts incredulously, putting his hands on his hips which only frames the objectified object in question.

Bucky climbs out of bed and walks over to Steve. “Okay, I’m sorry. This is serious,” he admits, eyes flitting over Steve, surely cataloguing the differences from last night to this morning. “Are you okay?” Bucky asks. “Does anything hurt?”

“I feel fine,” Steve says, but he’s visibly hyperventilating. His eyes are impossibly wide and glassy. It looks as if any second the hyperventilation will turn to sobs instead. “This can’t be happening,” he shakes his head, puts his hands over his face.

“Steve,” Bucky soothes, stepping forward to pull Steve into his arms. “It’s okay. It’s gonna be okay.”

Bucky holds him tight and rubs his back for a long time, until Steve’s breathing returns to normal and the urge to cry subsides. “Shh,” Bucky calms him down. “That’s better. Now. If we have a game plan, this will seem less overwhelming. What do you want to do?”

“I don’t know,” Steve admits, already starting to breathe harder.

“Okay, okay, shush, it’s okay. Let’s call Doctor Aliyah. Maybe she’ll have some ideas,” Bucky suggests.

“No!” Steve argues. “No one can know,” he says.

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Bucky reasons. “What are you going to do? Wear high heels?” Steve makes a face as if he’s considering the option. “No, you are not wearing high heels, Steve. You shrunk at least an inch overnight, if this pattern keeps going you’ll be in stilettos by the weekend and no one wants you to break an ankle over your stupid pride.”

“Okay,” Steve agrees, feeling vulnerable and foolish.

Bucky asks Jarvis to place the call to Doctor Aliyah Hakim while Steve gets dressed. None of his clothes fit anymore, even his shoes feel loose. Bucky stays with him, constantly touching him to reassure Steve that he’s there.

Steve was going to die back in 1943. Probably not actually in 1943, but as it was he was lucky to make it to the 40s for all his health problems. It was highly unlikely he would see the 50s. That reason was partially responsible for his decision to join Project Rebirth. He believed in Doctor Erskine, but he’d be lying if he said he never thought about what would happen if the effects were not permanent. But the longer the effects stuck around, the more he forgot about this fear.

Steve sits on the paper lined bed while they wait. Doctor Aliyah doesn’t keep them long. “Back so soon?” she asks Steve, but she’s pleasant and sweet when she speaks.

Steve nods, not trusting his voice.

“What seems to be the trouble?” she asks.

“I’m shrinking?” Steve says, but it sounds like a question.

Doctor Aliyah looks at him and he feels like a science experiment, not entirely unlike when he stumbled out of the Vitaray pod back in 1943. “I see,” she finally says. She steps to the sink and washes her hands before grabbing a pair of gloves, two face masks, and a paper gown. She hands one of the masks to Bucky, who takes it but does not put it on. After donning her Personal Protective Equipment, she turns to Steve and says, slightly muffled for the mask, “Let’s take a look.”

She begins by attaching the vitals electrode, noting his elevated pulse and blood pressure but his normal temperature. "Probably not an infection then, but we can't rule it out," she tells him. Then a brief physical. She checks his height and weight. He’s lost over three and a half inches in height and almost thirty pounds in weight. She uses the otoscope to check his ears, eyes, nose, and throat. She checks his reflexes while asking about his appetite and bowel movements. She asks for a urine sample and a blood sample and various other samples.

“When did all this start?” she asks.

“I’m not sure,” he says. “A few days? Maybe a week?”

“Have you left the country in the last 21 days?”

“No,” Steve says. He's been on leave from minor disasters until they found Bucky, which mostly left him available for the Rebuild Washington DC and New York fundraiser parties when he wasn't searching for Bucky.

“Any pain or discomfort?”

“None,” he shakes his head.

She taps on her computer to input his symptoms into the system. “Well,” she says, still cheery and reassuring. “You seem perfectly healthy. I don’t see anything that could explain what’s happening to you. I’d like to bring in Doctor Banner as a consultant to your case because of his background on the recreation of the serum. Would you be okay with that?”

“Sure,” Steve agrees. Anything to find out what’s happening. Maybe Bruce can even reverse this so he can grow again. Or just stop the shrinking.

Or what if the shrinking returns all his health problems, too? A whole new wave of panic is about to begin, but before it can start, Bucky squeezes his hand.

“So,” she says, “your symptoms are not something I’ve seen before. I’m inclined to act as if they are contagious. I advise that you consent to medical isolation while we sort through all the results of your samples.”

“Medical isolation?” Bucky repeats with such disdainful incredulity. “Lady, he’s not Typhoid Mary.”

But her words give Steve a new thought. If it’s contagious, it's a disease and diseases can be cured. It might not have anything to do with the serum after all. The thought gives him a very feeble sense of hope. “Okay,” Steve agrees.

Bucky glances from Steve to Doctor Aliyah before barking out, “Fine, but I’m staying with him.”

“That is not advised,” Doctor Aliyah says but doesn’t fight Bucky any more than that.

She leads them to the overnight room and gives Steve a hospital gown to change into. She sets up the hologram screen with his vitals and instructs him to hit the call button if he needs her. “I’m going to see Doctor Banner now about these samples. But the call button goes right to my pager,” she says, pointing at the black box on her hip. “Contact me immediately if your symptoms change.”

And then she’s gone.

Steve lays back on the hospital bed and stares up at Bucky, who is still watching the door she left out of with a frown on his face. “Buck?” Steve asks.

When Bucky turns to face Steve, the frown turns to a smile. “You okay, Stevie?” he asks. “Need water or are you cold?”

“No,” Steve smiles weakly. “You don’t have to stay, you know,” Steve reminds him.

Bucky gives him a Look and Steve shrugs, dropping the matter.

The overnight room has a bathroom and a TV. Jarvis attaches Steve’s Netflix account and the two start on the next episode of the documentary. The additional seating in the room is not very comfortable. Bucky doesn’t remain in it for very long, choosing instead to get Steve a glass of water, and then get himself a glass of water, and then altogether abandon the premise of a productive walk about the room. He starts pacing in the available space, and the sight is familiar. All the pacing Bucky had done at Steve’s bedside back at the tenement left a track of wear in the unsealed wood floor.

Historically, the smallest symptoms have turned into large problems for Steve overnight. There were many, many times when Steve would come home complaining of a dry throat only for the next evening to be bedridden from joint pain, sweats, and nausea. Medicine may have advanced a lot from the 30s and 40s, but turning to what amounts to science fiction to find answers does not allow for much confidence in finding a diagnosis, let alone a cure.

“It’s going to be okay, Buck,” Steve says after a while.

“Of course it will be,” Bucky agrees.

There’s an odd little splatting noise coming from across the room. When Steve and Bucky look at the glass window, they see Barton’s bare ass plastered to it shaking slightly side to side.

“Why?” Steve asks.

“Do you really think there is an answer to that question?” Bucky responds.

After a few more shimmies, Clint turns his head to look through the window, ass still attached to the glass. He gives a thumbs up. Bucky makes a closed duckbill with his hand and taps it to his mouth. Clint makes a fist and nods it before walking away, his pants still lowered around his thighs.

Steve looks at him questioningly and Bucky just shrugs. A few minutes later, Clint returns with a bag and a note that he tapes on the window. “I don’t want to die, food’s next to the door,” it says.

Bucky points with his right hand, taps the index and middle fingers of both hands together, and ends with a thumbs up. Clint looks mockingly scandalized before breaking out into laughter and walking off down the hall.

Bucky retrieves the bag of food from the doorway and brings it to the bed for Steve. There are two sandwiches, two bags of chips, and two soda cans, which is a better lunch than either of them expected Barton capable of packing. They’ve just polished off the sandwiches and are brushing away the crumbs when there’s a gentle knock at the door. Looking through the window, Doctor Aliyah, Bruce, and Tony are waiting just outside with somewhat somber expressions.

It doesn’t look like good news.

“Come in,” Steve hollers, stomach rushing around the sandwich and making him feel sick.

The three file into the room and Doctor Aliyah adopts her professional smiling face. “Well, Steve, we’ve figured it out,” she says.

“Do you want the good news or the bad news?” Tony asks, interrupting Doctor Aliyah.

Steve glances between the three faces and then at Bucky before cautiously saying, “Good news.”

Tony’s face falls. “Well, shit. I was really hoping you’d pick the bad news first because then I could stall long enough until I came up with some good news because I’m going to be quite frank here, Stevie boy, there is no good news. Except that you’re not going to die. I guess that counts as good news.”

Bruce swats Tony upside the head. “What Tony is _trying_ to say is that he’s sorry.”

“No, that is clearly _not_ what I’m trying to say, _Bruce_ ,” Tony says to Bruce before turning to Steve and saying, “But for the record, I am sorry.”

“Sorry about what?” Bucky says through gritted teeth. “Someone better explain what’s going on here.”

“Okay Mister Murder Scowl,” Tony says with more bravado than his body language lives up to. “Steve managed to get himself infected with nanobots,” he says in a rush.

“Nano what now?” Bucky asks.

“Nanobots,” Tony corrects. “Bruce and I -”

“Do _not_ lump me in with this, I gave you my suggestions and you ignored them,” Bruce says with a glare.

“Fine, _I_ developed these nanobots to, well, make people healthy,” Tony fumbles. “Their original intent was to boost immune systems and other healthy cells in the body. They’re like mini doctors, fixing everything wrong with you from the inside out. And, well, let’s just say they weren’t designed for super soldiers. And… they technically haven’t been tested yet.”

Steve remembers the day in the lab almost two weeks ago, where Tony tried explaining these nanobot things. But he’d tuned everything out as unimportant, irrelevant. He racks his brain trying to remember the details of that conversation, but nothing comes. All that he can focus on is, “How did this even happen?”

“You, uh, well, maybe I better show you,” Tony says. “Jarvis, queue the footage.”

The TV, which had been quietly playing some historian from the documentary, immediately switches to a clear, colored surveillance feed, identified as the R&D Lab. They all watch Tony and Steve interact on the screen.

 _“Well, what have you done in the way of world saving today,_ Capsicle _?” Tony asks haughtily on the screen._

_“Nothing yet, but it’s still early. So has Bruce seen these?” The Steve on screen is chewing on his finger._

The real Steve remembers an irritating hangnail. The real Steve's mouth goes dry as he remembers the coming events on the video.

_“Yeah, he’s looked over the schematics and given his suggestions.”_

Bruce swats at Tony again who frowns and punches Bruce right back. “This is still not my fault, _watch_.”

_“Is it supposed to be doing that?” Steve asks, looking at the table._

_“Hmm?”_

_“The tank is overflowing,” Steve says, pointing at the tank._

_“Well, officially? No.”_

They all watch as Tony goes off screen and Dum-E comes on screen, knocking Steve into the table where his hand plants directly into a small but very visible trickle of fluid leaking from the tank.

“See, told you it isn’t my fault,” Tony says. “The nanobots got into Steve’s blood stream through his open wound.”

“There is not any conceivable way that this is not your fault,” Bucky barks at the genius. “You created the nanobots and they escaped their holding tank because of your oversight, and the robot - _which you also created_ \- pushed Steve into them.”

“It was an accident!” Tony shouts, almost stamping his foot.

“An accident caused by your negligence!” Bucky counters, who actually stomps his foot, looking like he wants to do physical damage to whatever gets close enough.

“Bucky, stop," Steve frowns. His mind is whirring so fast he doesn't have time to play peacekeeper. "So what does that mean then, for me? What’s going to happen?” Steve asks.

“It means that the nanobots are destroying the serum cells,” Bruce summarizes.

“I don’t understand,” Steve says, feeling lightheaded and nauseous over the news. “So I’m going to shrink? Will I be sick again? Can we stop it?”

“Yes, no, and no,” Tony explains. At Steve’s confused look, he elaborates. “Yes, you’re going to shrink. The serum-jacked cells are what’s keeping you big and with the nanobots destroying them, you will get smaller. And because the nanobots are replicating exponentially inside your body, you will shrink faster and faster. No, you’re not going to get sick again because the nanobots are replacing your sickly cells with healthy ones. And, no, we can’t stop it. We can slow it down, but we can’t stop it. The nanobots are self replicating and there are probably millions of them by now.”

“This is why I said you needed an off switch, but _no_ ,” Bruce complains, bobbing his head sarcastically.

" _You didn’t even include an off switch_?" Bucky shouts, his hands ball into fists, the left one screeching under the strain he's exerting.

“Do we have to play the blame game now?” Tony asks with a full body sigh.

“Yes, we do,” Bruce replies.

“Boys!” Doctor Aliyah calls their attention. “This isn’t about you, it’s about Steve.” She turns to the man in question, dumbstruck and still lying on the hospital bed. “Is there anything else you have a question about, Steve?”

“Why can’t we stop it?”

“Because,” Tony says with a sigh, “they were intended to go in and not come out. I didn’t see the need to waste code space in their tiny memories with an off protocol when they were never intended to come back out.”

“You said you could slow it down,” Steve prompts.

“Yeah, I can. We would have to cleanse your blood, but since not all the ‘bots are in your blood, we won’t catch all of them so we would likely have to do it every day and I can't guarantee the cleansing will slow the shrinking down. But we can do it if you’d like.”

“What about your MAGIC stick?” Steve asks, desperate for any solution at all. Incredulous and skeptical eyes from all about the room fall on Steve. “Don’t look at me like that, he knows exactly what I’m talking about and it’s not his dick!”

“The Magnetic Area Geothermal Isolating Center stick isn’t designed for this,” Tony says. “The magnetic connection between the nanobots and the stick is so high that it would pull the nanobots out of your skin, which is where the geothermal part comes in. It detects any barrier between the stick and the nanobot, and if it’s a living barrier, it will not sync with the nanobot.”

“So you put more safety protocols in your cleanup than you did in the device itself,” Bucky summarizes.

The room begins to dissolve into more bickering and biting remarks while Steve’s world crashes around him.

It is inevitable then. There is no stopping it. Steve will shrink and there is nothing anyone can do. This body is going to be taken from him. He thought he had come to terms with that possibility, but the more the weight of the words force themselves on him, the more he realizes he’s woefully unprepared to go back to being Skinny Steve Rogers.

Bruce is fuming. Tony is sulking. Bucky is still making murder eyes at Tony. Doctor Aliyah is the only professional in the room, the only one still paying any attention to Steve while he breaks down.

“Can I go now?” Steve asks, voice gone small and quiet. This seems to shock all of them out of their various states of anger. Four sets of eyes assess Steve while he still lays mostly naked but for the hospital gown on the bed. “It’s just, if I’m not dying and I’m not contagious, I don’t need to be here. So can I go now, please?”

“Yes, Steve,” Doctor Aliyah says and Steve doesn’t wait for anything else.

He peels the electrode off his neck and climbs out of bed and pushes through the crowd that’s blocking his exit. The hospital gown flaps in the wind behind him but he doesn’t pay it any attention as he walks down the hall to the stairs. He foregoes the elevator, not wanting to wait for it in case Bucky tries to catch up with him, and takes advantage of the last of his superior abilities while he still can and races down the stairs to his apartment and locks the door behind him.

Steve feels hypersensitive to his body. It’s almost as if he can feel himself shrinking. He tries to disconnect and focus on anything else but the only thing that makes him stop thinking about it is sleep. Later, when the sky through his floor-to-ceiling windows is as dark as New York gets, a knock at the door rouses him from his sleep. 

He doesn’t answer, stubbornly clinging to unconsciousness.

When the sky turns lighter, he rouses again to the sound of Jarvis telling him that Bucky wishes to know if he wants company. Steve feels guilty but doesn’t answer that either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bucky signs "go fuck yourself" to Clint.


	8. Chapter 8

Steve wakes to a pressure on his bed jostling him. “Go away,” Steve mumbles and shoves his head into his pillow.

“Steve,” Natasha says. It’s not who Steve expected but only marginally less unwelcome than his original guess.

“Go away,” Steve says more forcefully.

“I have macaroni and cheese,” she says. He pulls the pillow tighter over his face. She clicks her tongue and sighs. “I’ll even let you eat it from the pot,” she bargains.

Steve pulls his face out of his pillow enough to glare at her. But her eyes are so sincere, his anger melts just a little. “Did you put extra cheese in it?” he asks, still trying to hold on to his anger because it’s more acceptable to be angry than any of the other emotions brimming at the surface.

“Yes, Steve. This isn’t amateur hour,” she says, rolling her eyes.

She doesn’t have the pot with her, clearly expecting that he at least get out of bed which is a far overestimation for his abilities right now. “In bed, or no dice,” he scowls.

She silently climbs out of bed. Steve half expects her to leave him be, but she returns shortly with the pot and an oven mitt. The wooden spoon is sticking out of the edge of the pot. When she passes it to him, he sits up with his back against the headboard and immediately sticks the wooden spoon full of cheesy goodness into his mouth.

Natasha lets him eat in silence for a while, but eventually clears her throat expectantly.

“What?” he asks around a mouthful of noodles.

She clears her throat again, this time adding a raised eyebrow.

Steve rolls his eyes. “Fine,” he grumbles and then swallows. “You’d do this too if you were told you couldn’t be a superhero anymore.”

Her face is impassive.

“What am I supposed to do? This is all Tony’s fault!” he yells before shoving the wooden spoon harshly back into the pot and pushing another spoonful into his mouth.

She raises her eyebrow higher and somehow it asks a question.

“Of course it’s Tony’s fault,” Steve defends himself.

“I didn’t say it wasn’t,” Natasha shrugs. “But what makes you think you can’t be a superhero anymore?”

He puffs his cheeks out around a large bite of noodles. “Nat, I’m going to shrink to the size of an average second grader. Second graders are not superheroes,” Steve explains, skepticism dripping like the cheese from his spoon.

Natasha scrunches her face up incredulously. “Steve, do I look like an average second grader to you?” she demands. “Because I’ve been to the Smithsonian and I know your previous statistics and you and I? We are going to be about the same size.”

“You were also trained since birth on how to be an assassin,” Steve reasons, unperturbed by her dressing down. “All I ever had was the serum.”

“You’re such a drama queen,” Bucky shouts from somewhere outside Steve’s bedroom.

“Fuck off, Bucky!” Steve shouts back.

Bucky appears in the doorway, Critter cradled in his arms. He scratches under her chin while she purrs loud enough to hear across the room.

“And where did you get that stupid cat!"

Bucky smiles at Critter. “I’m told the future is really into service animals. I thought she could help,” he says, and then tosses Critter gently on the bed. She looks about herself a moment before padding up Steve’s blanket and worming herself between the pot of macaroni and his lap, and then kneading bread while looking at him directly in the eyes as if daring him to push her away.

“You kidnapped her?” Steve asks.

“Something like that,” Bucky shrugs.

Just as Steve gets worked up enough to have something to say, Natasha interrupts with, “Steve.” His name normally attracts his attention, but the soft way she cuts it between her teeth makes him drop the whole cat snatching thing. “There has been a meeting.”

The ominous statement settles around him and makes his heart beat faster. Critter leans on his stomach, preventing him from eating more macaroni. He sets the pot on the bed and ignores how the seven pound cat’s pressure on his stomach makes him feel ill for all the cheese and noodles stuffed in his surely distended belly. After becoming aware that his body has been changing, he’s realized over the last week, he’d eaten more out of social obligation than true hunger. 

“A meeting? About what?” Bucky asks for him.

Natasha assesses Bucky a moment before looking back at Steve. “A decision has been made that you will not be allowed to leave the Tower without protection.”

Bucky scoffs and flops his hands down on his thigh with a loud clapping noise before Steve can even decide his reaction. He remains silent. Critter begins to chirp faintly for attention, so Steve brings his hand up to scratch under her chin like Bucky had done earlier. “Superheroes don’t need protection,” Steve says after a long silence.

“Superheroes have backup,” Natasha frowns.

“Stop trying to make me feel better, Nat,” Steve grumbles.

“Fine,” she says. “They want to monitor your shrinking and you are now required to see a therapist.”

Steve had seen a team of therapists when he’d first been thawed from the ice. So many things had changed since the 40s, and not just the technology. Social situations were completely different. Clothing choices, hair styles, makeup on dames, civil rights, contextual and connotative language. He’d missed more than an entire era. Coming to terms with that was the easier part of his recovery. Learning to manage his expectations and ultimately “assimilate” to this new culture was far more difficult.

It remains a struggle, but made easier by having close and understanding friends.

Still, the thought of being forced to return to a therapist makes him question his progress.

“I’m doing fine,” he protests.

Bucky scoffs again, but Natasha cuts off whatever he was about to say. “This is not a request, this is a requirement. If you wish to remain part of the Avengers Initiative, you will keep the appointments.”

“Whatever,” Steve says through gritted teeth. Like they'll keep him anyway once he's Polly Pocket sized.

Natasha breathes out slowly and climbs off the bed. “I’m sorry, Steve. We just want to help,” she tells him gently. “If you need anything, you know where I am.” She walks out of the bedroom, and a few seconds later, they can hear the clicking of the apartment door.

It’s quiet for a long moment, aside from the purring Critter on Steve’s belly. He gazes miserably down at the pot of half eaten macaroni. Natasha did not divulge who was at the _meeting_ , but Steve knows the ring leader must be Tony. In times like these, it’s difficult to remember Tony Stark has a heart. He makes a point to specifically think of all the good and kind things Tony has done rather than the shrinking and the house arrest. He especially thinks in excruciating detail about that night not even a week ago where Tony dropped everything for him, for Bucky. A platitude from one of his early sessions raises to the forefront of his mind: He can’t change the past, he can only change his attitude. The therapists probably had more impact on his life than they are giving him credit for.

“Hey,” Bucky says softly, pulling Steve out of his head for a moment.

Steve sighs deeply and sets his jaw. “Hey,” he replies.

Bucky looks like he wants to say something else. He looks conflicted and vulnerable standing in the middle of the room, hands tucked in the pockets of the clothes he was wearing two days ago. Guilt rushes through Steve’s chest over locking Bucky out of his home. Out of the home he promised Bucky would always have not four days ago. He’s an ass.

“I can go,” Bucky says, already turning to the door.

“No, wait,” Steve calls, “please don’t.”

Bucky turns back and the two share gently assessing looks before Bucky crosses the room and sits on the bed. He takes the half empty pot of noodles and sets it on the floor before pulling Steve up in a hug he didn’t know he needed.

“We’ll figure it out, Stevie,” Bucky murmurs softly into his hair.

Critter yowls and scampers off Steve’s legs. Steve laughs mirthless and tightens his hold around Bucky. “I know.”

In the morning, Doctor Aliyah measures him. It almost feels like the dancing monkey gig back in 1943, minus the dancing. He’s just a monkey for them to poke at. To measure and take samples from. An experiment. A specimen.

In the afternoon, he has therapy where the therapist, Doctor Reed, makes a house call. The session makes him feel raw and itchy and he’s actually thankful that Sam has not made his way to the Tower yet to pick up Critter. Her purring and kneading on his lap makes it almost bearable.

In the evening, after Sam’s shift at the hospital, he comes to pick up Critter to take her back to Mr. Zwicky. Bucky made them beef stew for dinner, and he and Sam swap recipes while Steve pokes at his dinner, not hungry at all. He tries to engage, but thankfully isn’t questioned when he excuses himself to bed where he doesn’t sleep but it’s quiet and dark. Bucky joins him after Sam leaves and doesn’t make him talk.

In the morning, Doctor Aliyah measures him. In the afternoon, Steve has therapy with Doctor Reed who suggests he find something to spend his energy on rather than just being angry. So, in the evening, he makes it to the exercise facility to use the treadmill. His performance is pathetic by his super statistics and he leaves more frustrated than he arrived.

In the morning, Doctor Aliyah measures him. At the rate he’s going, he will be fully shrunk by tomorrow. Doctor Reed suggests yoga. Steve remains silent for the rest of the session.

Bucky stays up late with Steve, trying to make him feel better but Steve doesn’t even want to be looked at anymore. He feels small, impotent, and so angry. Bucky walks him through the breathing exercises Doctor Reed laid out, but all they do is change his anger to sadness and he doesn’t want to be sad.

Bucky rubs his back and the two fall asleep just before dawn.

In the morning, Doctor Aliyah measures him. A blood test reveals that it is likely all the serum cells have been eradicated. He stands at five foot four inches tall, 98 pounds.

“I don’t understand why I’m still under house arrest,” he confides in Doctor Reed later that afternoon. “I mean, no one will recognize me anymore. Captain America, I most certainly am not.”

“No one took your title,” Doctor Reed reminds him.

He scowls at her. “Tony did,” he flares, jutting his chin, daring Doctor Reed to contradict him.

She doesn’t. “Do you not recognize yourself anymore?” she asks instead.

“Do you recognize me?” he answers.

She sighs. “Steve,” she says softly, too professional to get sucked into his gainless argument.

Steve puffs out his cheeks and goes through the breathing exercise for a few moments before engaging with her again. She looks pleased when he opens his eyes. Progress.

Still, he doesn’t feel fixed when the session is over. All the therapists assured him that therapy is not there to be a destination, but a journey. The phrase feels tired and recycled, but he’s sure the concept is supposed to be reassuring. It doesn’t help.

Bucky has been larger than Steve for four days now. Steve has been unable to reach the top cupboard in his kitchen for two days, which is really inconvenient because that’s where the cups are. Bucky gets a cup for him and fills it with water before joining Steve on the couch.

Steve’s phone dings and blinks yellow with an incoming snap from cawcawmuthrfckr. Clint and Nat are wearing sunglasses, Nat is holding a DVD case and Clint is holding a stovetop popcorn pan. The caption says, “Come to movie night if you want an ass kicking.”

Steve is fully willing to ignore it but Bucky refuses to let him miss out. He spends twenty minutes reminding Steve that he has to leave the apartment sometime and that these were the situations Doctor Reed said would be good for him to engage in. He tries for levity saying that Steve could watch Bucky actually kick Clint’s ass, and while the image does get Steve to give a real genuine laugh, that isn’t what gets Steve into the elevator. Instead it's the tiny, quirked, “Please come with me,” Bucky begs with eyes too big and pleading to say no to.

Despite Bucky’s encouragement and support, Steve feels tight and anxious as they ride the elevator to the communal floor. He has barely seen anyone aside from Doctor Aliyah, Doctor Reed, and Bucky for a few days. Well, and Pepper in passing a few days ago. She brought by some clothes. Actually, she brought by his entire current closet but in smaller sizes.

Still, he knows he has been avoiding the inevitable. He can't hide forever. He wishes the anger would come back, he would rather be angry at the coming rejection than afraid of it.

Bucky has to apply a gentle push to the small of Steve’s back to get him to exit the elevator. His stomach is knotted, waiting for a reaction from Natasha and Clint. 

"Fucking finally," Clint says when the two enter the theater room. "Can I make the popcorn now?" he glares at Nat.

"Go," she waves him off.

Clint brushes passed them on his way out of the theater room to the kitchen.

Their reaction is so anticlimactic, it takes a moment for Steve to unclench his body when the rejection doesn't come. He feels drained and exhausted in its place.

Bucky again applies a small amount of pressure on Steve’s back to guide him to the tiered cushions in front of the screen that could rival an actual movie theater in size. Nat is sitting on the lowest tier with a wine cooler in her hand. Steve wonders if he can get drunk off regular alcohol again now that the last of the serum cells have been destroyed. 

Not being able to get drunk was mostly just a minor irritation. He only fiercely missed the ability when faced with Bucky’s death. But perhaps it would provide a bit of numbness while he gets used to being useless again. He grew up in prohibition, and was still around when it was lifted. The attitudes around alcohol and other drugs was one of the things he had to have explained to him after coming out of the ice. Alcohol as a coping mechanism has yet to come up in therapy but he has a feeling what Doctor Reed would say. 

"So what movie are we watching?" Bucky asks as the two climb on the cushions next to Nat.

"The Day After Tomorrow," Clint announces from the doorway.

"Shouldn't you be watching the popcorn?" Natasha asks.

Clint spares her a brief Look before turning back to address Steve and Bucky. "It's based on true events. Back in 2004, there was a mini ice age episode and this is a retelling of how Jack Hall saves his son from wolves that invade New York. And some other shit. But wolves in New York! Nat, remember when we had a mission to run them back up state?"

"Do you really expect us to believe that?" Steve snorts.

Clint frowns. "What gave it away?"

"Everyone knows 'based off true events' means the only thing true is the character's name," Bucky says.

"Okay, fine," Clint shrugs. “But it is one of those B movies that everyone likes to make fun of. So we're going to Mystery Science Theater 3000 this shit."

Steve turns to Bucky quizzically, Bucky returns the look.

"Oh come on you had to have heard of MST3K!" Clint bellows.

"You do remember both of us were frozen for most of the last 70 years," Bucky says giving Clint a leveling look.

"Well, yeah but like this show was a huge pop culture thing for over 10 years. It’s still on reruns!" Clint says, still searching Bucky and Steve for any sign of recognition. When none comes he sighs and explains, "We're gonna heckle the screen when stupid shit happens."

"But why would we do that?" Steve asks.

"Because it's fun!" Clint says.

"Wouldn't it be better to just watch a good movie?" Bucky asks.

Clint stares blankly and then his face completely falls. "Neither of you have seen Rocky Horror yet either, huh?"

"Do I smell burning?" Natasha asks before tilting her wine cooler for a sip.

"Oh shit!" Clint shouts and runs off to the kitchen.

Moments later, swearing and banging and coughing can be heard from the kitchen before Clint pops his head back in the theater room. "So don't panic, but where's the fire extinguisher?" he asks, guilty embarrassment coloring his cheeks.

“Move," Steve yells as he propels himself off the cushion and out of the doorway Clint is no longer blocking.

Steve dashes into the kitchen to see thick black smoke emitting from the popcorn tin on the stove. He can see the tickles of orange flame making their way through the tiny circular opening at the top of the expanded aluminum. Then the fire alarm sounds.

Steve immediately checks under the sink for the red fire extinguisher and drags it out across the extra towels and soap bottles that scatter about the floor in his haste. It’s heavy in his arms in a way it never would have been three weeks ago. He focuses on pulling the safety clip and aiming the hose at the growing flames. The smoke is thick and makes the back of his throat itch. He releases the nozzle and white foam shoots out of the end of the hose directly at the flames, immediately dousing them.

He sprays the foam a little more just to be sure and watches the foamy, discolored mess for any signs of more fire but after a minute he declares the area safe. The alarm is still blaring, making his ears ring with the racket it’s causing. “Jarvis, can you kill the alarm?” Steve asks the AI.

The alarm immediately quits. “Shall I alert the fire department?” Jarvis asks.

“No, everything’s fine now,” Steve reports.

“Very well, Captain Rogers,” Jarvis says. “I will schedule a maintenance crew for the morning to clean up the mess.”

“Thank you,” Steve replies.

Steve drops the fire extinguisher and covers his mouth in his elbow to cough deeply. Steve turns around to see Clint watching the scene from the far side of the kitchen. “Should we get some fans to air it out?”

“Steve!” Natasha yells from the theater room.

Steve hurries back to see what’s wrong, crashing unexpectedly into Natasha who is waiting in the doorway looking horrified at something in the room. Steve follows her eyeline and realizes it’s Bucky.


	9. Chapter 9

Bucky is standing in front of the cushions, near frozen except for the heavy breathing that looks like hyperventilation. His eyes dart about the room but don't land on anything, don't focus for even a moment. And he has a knife in his right hand.

"Bucky?" Steve asks tentatively.

He turns his head to Steve, and his eyes finally register something. His breathing settles and he begins twirling the knife expertly across his palm. His eyes narrow.

"Steve," Natasha whispers, urgently tugging at his shirt sleeve in warning.

Steve brushes her off. "Bucky, where did you get the knife?"

Bucky stops twirling the knife and grips it at the tip between two fingers.

"Steve!" Nat shouts and pushes him down just as Bucky throws the knife. He lands in an undignified heap and the knife lodges itself in the wall behind them.

"Bucky! Bucky, stop!" Steve begs as Bucky advances on them. Natasha again pulls at Steve's shirt sleeve urgently shoving him to move out of the Winter Soldier's way.

"Who the hell is Bucky?" he asks.

Steve’s heart sinks, but he has the benefit of experience not to let it slow him down. They've done this before. He can bring Bucky back. "You are," Steve explains, holding his hands out in a mix of surrender and appeasement. "James Buchanan Barnes, born to George and Winifred Barnes." 

Bucky slows, but his eyes don't clear. He looks confused and upset, distrusting and malicious.

Natasha stops pulling at his sleeve. Steve waits to see if his words are enough yet. They are clearly not when a moment later, Bucky’s head turns to evaluate Natasha.

Steve begins talking, aimless but needing to get Bucky’s attention back on him. "Bucky, your 'ma made the best peach cobbler on the block. She came in second place for it to that cheating Miss Dunnigan." Bucky actually pauses and looks like he's trying to remember. It might be wishful thinking but Steve has worked with worse odds than that and still came out ahead. He's also worked with better odds and didn’t.

"Remember when you saved me from the Hughes brothers? They were pulling Maggie Mae's hair and I tried to stop them but they pushed me down and took my pencils. You, all you had to do was shout 'hey' at them and they scattered!" Steve recalls fondly.

"And when you wanted to take me to see the movies but they hiked the price up a nickel? You snuck us in the back but I felt so guilty that I left my quarter behind anyway.

"Or when you always took me on those awful double dates. Remember the time you won the dance marathon? You won a hundred bucks! Had to split it with your partner but oh man, remember when a hundred dollars was practically a fortune?"

Bucky slumps forward and lands on his knees, looking down at his hands, lost and frustrated. Steve holds out a hand, not quite daring to touch but wanting the gap between them to be smaller. "Buck?" Steve asks cautiously.

Bucky looks at Steve, some of the haze clearing out of his features, just in time for his eyes to widen in realization. His jaw works open and closed a few times before sound escapes. "Oh god, Steve. What - I - oh god!" Bucky shoves his face in his hands and his shoulders shake.

Natasha pushes him in Bucky’s direction. Steve trips over his own legs as he tries to stand, resulting in him half crawling, half falling the last few feet to Bucky’s side where he pulls Bucky into the biggest hug he can maneuver. He used to hug better, stronger. He used to have muscular padding and strength to offer support. Now his hug feels ineffectual, but it’s all he has to offer. Steve hears the soft rattling of the door being closed. Natasha is probably still listening from the other side of the door, but the illusion of privacy is appreciated.

“It’s okay, Buck,” Steve murmurs into Bucky’s hair. He shifts and uses his left hand to pet down the long strands he’d mussed up when he first pulled Bucky into his arms. “Shh, it’s okay, you’re okay.”

“I, I tried to kill you,” Bucky admits and Steve is sure that if he weren’t so close, he wouldn’t have heard it for how soft and broken Bucky’s voice is.

Steve leans down to place a chaste kiss to Bucky’s hair, using his hand to pet it down again, trying for soothing and calming. “But you didn’t,” he replies.

"But I could!" Bucky shouts, pushing Steve away. Steve falls back on his ass and glares at Bucky indignantly. "So easily. Don't you understand? This," he says forlornly holding out his left hand, "I could crush your throat." He demonstrates with a quick swipe at the air between them. "Without any effort! You have no protection against me. Not anymore."

Steve is shaking his head fiercely angry. "That's just not true," he denies.

Bucky returns his angry glare and chuffs his chin out. "Steve, if Nat hadn't been here, you'd be bleeding out all over the carpet."

"But she _was_ here," he reasons, shifting back to sit cross legged. "Don't you dare beat yourself up over what ifs. That's not fair."

Bucky clicks his tongue and stares up at the high ceiling. Steve can see him thinking. He opens his mouth and shuts it before starting again, still not looking at Steve. "I should go. I'll only keep putting you in danger."

"No!" Steve protests. His fists ball inadequately at his sides. "You've been back for two weeks and nothing happened. This was just a, uh, a close call!" Steve falters.

"A wake up call!" Bucky counters, finally turning from the ceiling to pin Steve with a pleading, begging look. "We need to stop living in a fantasy that I'm _better_. I'm still the Winter Soldier. I’m dangerous, especially to you because you refuse to see that."

Steve makes a sobering shake to his head. "Buck, taking you at face value wasn't living in a fantasy. And maybe this is a wake up call, but you leaving won't fix anything," he says gently. "You need help."

Bucky visibly hesitates.

“Please," Steve asks. "You don’t have to decide now. Things will look better in the morning."

"Persistent little shit, aren't you?" Bucky says fondly, but his shoulders still sag in resignation.

"Always," Steve smiles bright and fake before standing and offering Bucky his hand.

Bucky accepts the helping hand but clearly does not put his whole weight for Steve to pull the brunt of off the floor. Bucky releases Steve’s hand on standing and moves to keep some distance. Steve refuses to let him and pulls Bucky’s arm over his shoulders as they exit the theater.

The position is familiar in a way Steve didn't know he missed. Bucky used to hold him this way when one of them was too drunk to walk in a straight line home. Or when the winter winds ripped through the streets and Steve couldn't keep his shivers at bay. Or on the nights when Steve’s half of the double date ditched. Bucky always chose Steve as if he weren't a choice, but rather as if he were the only option Bucky had eyes for.

Come to think of it, Bucky held him that way a lot. Actually, Bucky held him in a lot more intimate ways than...

Steve audibly gasps. It's small, but unmistakable, like the smell of burnt popcorn that has permeated the whole floor.

"What?" Bucky asks.

"Nothing," Steve lies and continues walking with Bucky half draped across his shoulders.

As expected, Nat is waiting just outside the theater. She evaluates their current positions and raises an eyebrow. Steve is amazed at how communicative that expression is. He blushes. She nods. They continue on their way to the elevator.

Tired from the recent event and from the very little sleep they had last night, they begin their bedtime routine immediately upon returning home. Their routine is largely unchanged from back in the tenement house. The routine helps hide Steve’s distraction. He watches Bucky through the mirror while he brushes his teeth and has to shake himself out of it when Bucky quirks his head questioningly.

Bucky spits out his mouthful of toothpaste foam. "What?" he says.

Steve shrugs and keeps brushing until Bucky leaves the bathroom with a shrug of his own.

When Steve exits the bathroom, Bucky is already in bed. Steve crawls in on his own side. Bucky scoots across to big spoon Steve like he's done thousands of times.

In the morning, Doctor Aliyah measures him. When his measurements are determined unchanged from yesterday, he is told he will not need to return again. He doesn’t know what to talk about with Doctor Reed so he deflects and makes Bucky take his session instead. While Bucky and Doctor Reed are talking, Steve hides in the stairwell and makes a phone call.

"Sam?" Steve asks.

"This better be important, I just got off a double," he grumbles into the phone.

"I... I think I'm in love with Bucky."

There is a long, long pause, ultimately broken by a groan. "Hey Steve, remember when you went two weeks without a shower because we couldn't find him fast enough? Was that your first clue or?"

"Sam," Steve says.

"Don't you have a therapist for this?"

"Sam, come on," Steve asks.

"Okay. Okay, fine."

"I just. Jesus, Sam. Does he love me too?"

“Hey, Steve, I know you could go on with these questions for hours. And normally, I’d be totally up for hearing about your angst and shit. But I’m tired as fuck so why don’t we cut to the chase. Talk. To. Him.”

And then Sam hangs up on him.

“Rude,” Steve says to his phone.

It blinks a few seconds later with an incoming email from Sam. All the email contains is a link. Steve thumbs over the link and it opens a page with music tones that can only be described as glittery as pixelated sparkles and rainbows splash across the page with text that reads, “Hooray, you’re gay!”

Steve hurriedly exits the page before the catchy music can get stuck in his head all day.

He replies to the email, _Asshole_.

Sam replies immediately with a smiley face.

Skinny Steve Rogers was never a catch. The double dates Bucky dragged him on rarely ended well for Steve, and the bar for “well” indicated that the date stuck around until the end instead of leaving for the bathroom and not coming back or changing dance partners and never coming back. Steve didn’t usually mind. He just liked going out with Bucky, being included to go to the dance halls and watch. He had two left feet anyway and didn’t mind when the girl ditched him for someone better. She deserved to have a good time, even if it wasn’t with him.

Big Steve Rogers was attractive. Steve wasn’t blind for the looks that followed him. But the new body didn’t come with new confidence. He had to gain that on his own and it was extremely hard won. He had his stubbornness leftover from his tiny persona, but the kind of self esteem that goes along with asking out a dame is not the same as the kind of gumption it takes to stand up for what’s right.

The end result meant Steve Rogers has never been on a date that wasn’t set up by Bucky Barnes. Although, part of that is due to his 70 years in icy oblivion followed by several months of catch up and his own lack of interest. So, by proxy, Steve is fairly inexperienced with picking up the hints when someone is interested. The kiss he’d received from Private Lorraine was a complete disaster. He hadn’t even really been aware of what she was after until she was pulling him in by his tie. He’d been only slightly more aware of Peggy’s intentions, but was only just marginally less surprised when she pulled him in by his suit before going after Schmidt.

Even still, if his suspicions are true, this just might be the thickest his skull has ever been. But, to be at least a little fair to himself, it’s not like Bucky was obvious. He never took home a fella. He danced with girls and had sex with girls and he even dated a few of them. He never pulled Steve in by his tie to kiss him.

But, Steve was realizing, he always did little things. He sometimes brought home a Coke for Steve “just because”. He used to rub the ointment on Steve’s feet and hands when the joint pains were too much to bare. He always stayed on Steve’s left side so that he talked into his good ear. He helped Steve put his colored pencils in gradient order so Steve could number them for when Bucky wasn’t around to help. He’d buy popcorn at the movies and put salt on it even though Bucky doesn’t like salt, but Steve does.

And maybe... maybe he’s wrong. Maybe Bucky never did any of that stuff with the intention of pursuing anything. Maybe Bucky would have done those things for anyone.

But maybe Steve is just making excuses because he cannot remember a single time that anyone else was allowed to spend the night in their shared bed. The only person who ever woke up with Bucky’s morning wood pressed against their ass was Steve.

Steve's phone beeps with an incoming text, drawing him out of his thoughts.

“You’re out of groceries, you’re taking me to dinner,” Bucky’s text reads.

Steve returns to his apartment to see Bucky sitting on the couch and frowning at his phone. “Oh there you are,” he says as Steve shuts the door.

“Hey,” Steve says. “How was therapy?”

Bucky rolls his eyes and his shoulders drop. “She’s mad at you for skipping out. She’s probably going to report to whoever it is she reports to,” Bucky deflects.

Steve shrugs and drops it. If Bucky doesn’t want to talk about it, Steve won’t make him.

“So are you ready?” Bucky asks. At Steve’s questioning look, he elaborates, “For dinner. We’re going out because all you have is fish sticks. Why do you even _have_ fish sticks?”

Steve smiles like he’s supposed to but doesn’t feel it, not really. “Buck, I can’t leave,” Steve says.

“Sure you can,” Bucky counters.

“No, Natasha said -”

“She said you couldn’t leave without protection. We just need a chaperone,” he says. “I bet if we ask someone - “

Rule misinterpretation aside, “Why can’t _you_ be the chaperone?” Steve asks. He feels whiny and shy in a way that he knows he doesn’t need to.

Bucky narrows his eyes but speaks very gently. “We agreed that last night was a wake up call; you know why I can’t. Steve, stop making excuses, we’re going. Easy way or hard way, you’re taking me to get Chinese food.”

“Chinese? We could just get takeout,” Steve pouts.

“Steve!”

“Okay, okay, just let me change first,” Steve relents.

Bucky breaks into a self satisfied smug smirk. 

Steve goes into his room to change. He doesn’t really need to - he’s just stalling. He briefly wonders what happened to all his larger clothes. When Pepper dropped off his new clothes, she disappeared with his old. He didn’t ask at the time and now he can’t help but be curious if some Goodwill has all of Captain America’s second-hand goods. They probably could have been sold at auction for some charity benefit, but they haven’t told the press yet about Steve’s little problem. And that concept seems really invasive. He had never totally embraced the fame that Cap brought, but the money it brought in to the charities was worth being uncomfortable for.

He pulls a warm sweater on over his thin frame and acutely misses the padding his old body gave against the elements.

“You done yet?” Bucky asks, somewhat exasperated as he leans into the bedroom to check on Steve.

Steve shrugs and tugs the cuffs of his sweater over his hands. Bucky’s face falls sympathetically and he walks into the room to throw an arm over Steve’s shoulders, leading him out of the bedroom and then out of the apartment to the elevator.

“Pardon me, Captain Rogers,” Jarvis says with what Steve detects as slightly more sass than should probably ever be programmed into a computer, “my protocols will not allow both of you to the lobby level without a proper guardian. If you would like, I can supply a list of approved guardians.”

Bucky laughs. “No worries, Johnny Five, we know the rules. Take us to Natasha’s floor,” he says.

“Miss Romanov is not available. However, Mister Stark, Miss Potts, Mister Hogan, or Mister Barton are available. The other four approved chaperones are currently unavailable at this time.”

“Clint’s approved?” Steve looks at Bucky conspicuously.

“Yes, Captain. Mister Barton is currently located on the communal level. Shall I take you there instead?”

“Yes, please.”

Steve is surprised the floor no longer smells like burnt popcorn. Bucky once burned a pot of cabbage soup back in the tenement, and by the time they’d noticed, the water had all evaporated and the cabbage leaves were sizzling and black at the bottom of the pot. Their entire apartment smelled like old farts and a wet dog had birthed a horrible child. They left the window open for a week straight despite the cold weather before the smell lessened enough to close it. Their questionably stained couch had acquired a verifiably repulsive smell every time anyone plopped their ass down on it. After a month, when the smell was still detectable, the two of them moved it back down to the alley they found it in.

Instead, the floor smells like lemon cleaner, but not overpowering like the bathrooms at SHIELD used to before the fall of the Triskelion.

Clint is sitting in the theater room with a game controller and a headset on, furiously button mashing. He starts screaming various obscenities and “no” over and over again before the screen flashes with red splatters and a “Game Over” marquee.

“Hey, birdbrain, feel like seeing how many dumplings the human body can hold? You know, for science?” Bucky asks before Clint can restart the game.

Steve’s eyes linger around Clint’s stained shirt and ratted, hole-filled boxers. “Might need to put on some pants first,” he suggests mildly.

Clint looks himself up and down before shrugging and setting the controller aside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Click here, if you want an ass kicking.](http://funnyjunk.com/If+you+want+an+ass+kicking/funny-pictures/5454641)


	10. Chapter 10

Even though Jarvis had previously assured them that Clint was on the approved list, it was still mildly unexpected when the elevator doors opened at lobby level. Out on the street, Steve asks, “So who made you an approved chaperone?”

Clint may have the title of Master Assassin in some circles, but Steve still remembers the day after they rearranged the common space living room. Clint tripped over the coffee table multiple times. The fourth time he tripped over the coffee table, his nose broke his fall on the couch pillow. House rules dictated that Clint should have been responsible for cleaning up his own blood. He’d done so by turning the couch cushion upside down.

“Aw, come on, I’m totally an adult,” Clint reassures them while simultaneously tripping over his untied shoelace.

He does not stop to tie it.

They order the entire menu. Steve enjoys the beef and broccoli, Bucky’s gushing over the sweet and sour chicken (“It’s so sweet, Steve, you don’t even know.”), and Clint is slurping a never ending bowl of noodles.

“Totally an adult, huh?” Bucky asks Clint after he spills on his shirt, not that anyone would really be able to tell among all the other stains.

Clint holds his right hand next to his chest, palm up and fingers and thumb curled in a C shape. His left hand is positioned in a similar shape but held much further away from his chest, wiggling both of them a few inches front to back.

Bucky responds by holding both hands, making a diamond shape between where his thumbs and index fingers touch, then switches to hold his left hand out flat, and flips his right hand, fingers in W form, over his extended flat hand.

Clint taps his thumb to his chin while extending his middle finger.

Bucky laughs and goes back to eating his sweet and sour chicken. “How’s the beef and broccoli?” he asks around a mouthful of chicken.

“Um, beefy?” Steve says more like a question. 

Bucky chuckles softly and sets his fork down. “Here,” he says, taking up his napkin and pressing it gently to Steve’s cheek. Steve unconsciously leans into the touch as his cheeks heat. “Can’t take you anywhere,” Bucky complains with a smile playing on his lips.

“Oh,” Clint says like he’s just realized something obvious and large. “I’ve gotta go. Like, right now. Like, you’re paying the bill and I’m leaving right this second. Bye now,” he says, shoveling the last of his bowl of noodles in his mouth as he speaks. He swallows, coughs, pounds on his chest and stands up, gulping from the water glass before slamming it back on the table before taking off in the wrong direction of the exit to the restaurant and then backtracking a few moments later.

“Well that was,” Bucky pauses for effect, “ _hawkward_.”

Steve laughs clumsily and his cheeks flush again. He laughs longer than strictly necessary because he can’t make it stop. He blushes at his lack of suave, then laughs again when he doesn’t know what to say.

“You okay, Rogers?” Bucky asks when Steve’s giggles crescendo again.

The tips of his ears burn crimson and he shoves a large piece of broccoli in his mouth so he has something to distract from the awful laughter he can’t control. It wasn’t even _that_ funny. Okay, so it might have been hilarious, but his response to the joke is born more out of nerves than finding it actually deserving of more than a groan and a rueful smile.

He nods to answer. Bucky pulls the bowl of fried rice closer to dish himself some more.

And the worst part is that there will never be a _moment_. There will never be a good time to drop the bomb Steve’s been agonizing over for the last few hours. He doesn’t want to wait, his impatience is something so characteristically _him_ that it comes as no surprise when he fumbles over swallowing the bite of broccoli and opens his mouth to confess. 

“I love you.”

Bucky drops the spoon and fried rice splatters on the table. His eyes get impossibly wide and his cheeks pink brilliantly. The reaction is so comical, Steve gets over his mortification and laughs. This time, the laughter is appropriate and not brought on by anxiety. He has nothing left to be anxious about except Bucky’s response, which sobers him up back to the nervous chuckles.

But when Steve checks for Bucky’s reaction again, he’s stone faced. Steve clams up and tries to make himself smaller still. He opens his mouth only to be cut off.

“You absolute punk,” Bucky declares. 

“I’m sorry, I -”

“You’re sorry? You’re _sorry_! What in the hell is wrong with you? Do you have _any_ sense of self preservation?”

“I -”

“You stupid, stupid punk,” Bucky says and places his hands over his face. He breathes deeply and slides his hands up and through his hair, fingers catching slightly in the silky strands.

Steve would be lying if he said he didn’t expect some sort of negative reaction. Another characteristic that is very Steve Rogers is anticipating the worst. He’d just had such a hopeful disposition about this after reassessing and reliving all the beautiful memories through the years with Bucky at his side. But the only thing worse than never saying anything about it, is having said something and it ruins what they already had. Steve doesn’t think he can go back to living without Bucky, not if the last five months without him is anything to judge by.

“If it helps,” Steve says, slowly and painfully. “You don’t have to love me back. I’m not... I didn’t say it to make you do something about it.” The emotional backtrack is difficult, but if it will save their friendship, he’ll do anything.

“Shut up. Of course I want to do something about it.”

Bucky stands up, his chair scraping across the tile in angry squeaks. Steve tilts his head upward, still looking into the angry expression blotched across Bucky’s face. Bucky steps around the table, closer to Steve, staring him down. Steve refuses to be intimidated and sets his jaw tightly as Bucky places his metal hand across the back of Steve’s chair and his flesh hand on the table, effectively trapping him.

Steve expects a punch to the nose, maybe a slap to the cheek. He expects maybe to be pulled by his shirt collar and thrown to the floor. With how angry Bucky is glaring, the very last thing he expects is Bucky to lean down and place a very tender kiss to his lips.

When Bucky pulls back, he rasps, “I’ve wanted to do that for years.”

“You fucking sap,” Steve complains and pulls Bucky back by his collar to press another kiss.

Bucky pulls back gently. “Not here,” he whispers, tugging at Steve’s hands to loosen and return them to his lap. He gives Steve one more peck to the cheek before returning to his seat. “Check, please,” he waives to the server.

They pay and exit quickly. Bucky surprises him by stealing his hand to hold for the walk back. It feels good, the way his heart flutters in his chest. But then Bucky slows down.

Steve looks around for the source of Bucky’s distraction, finding nothing.

“Steve,” Bucky says with awed wonderment.

“What?” Steve asks.

“Look,” Bucky says, pointing up.

Flying high above the city are Iron Man suits with signs trailing behind them. Steve can only see two of them properly, but there must be more because the two signs he can read are “Rogers” and “I'm”. Sure enough, a few moments later he sees the next sign flying into view. A few moments after that, he has the whole message as the “I'm” sign returns.

“I'm sorry Steve Rogers” in fifty foot red, white, and blue lettering flying all around the city of New York could only have one responsible party, although responsible is hardly an adjective that should be used to describe said party.

Steve struggles to retrieve his phone from his pocket. “Tony,” he growls when the genius answers the line.

“Steve,” Tony greets, sounding vaguely like he's schmoozing a client. “I see you got my message. Pepper said it's probably a bit ostentatious, but I couldn't say no to fireworks!”

“There's _fireworks_?” Steve howls. Sure enough, the Iron Man suits begin to shit explosives. One of them blows up in the shape of a shield.

“When are you coming home?” Tony asks, calling his attention back to the phone. “I have something to show you.”

“You're in my _house_?” Steve hisses into the phone. The _audacity_. The _invasion_.

“Technically, it's all my house. But yes, yes I am.”

_The bastard!_

Steve growls with anger and wishes he still had the super strength to crush his phone to dust. Beside him, Bucky looks on questioningly. “Come on,” Steve beckons. “Asshole Machine has something for us.”

When they arrive back at the Tower, Tony is sitting on Steve's couch with a drink in hand and a StarkPad on his lap, clearly going for nonchalance even as he flips through the virtual pages too quickly to possibly read. Bucky is barely through the door before Steve makes to slam it. The door doesn't actually slam thanks to the Soft Close hinges installed on all the doors in the Tower, but the effect draws the desired attention regardless.

Tony cuts Steve off before he can even begin. “Relax. I come bearing gifts,” he says, setting his StarkPad on the coffee table. He keeps his drink in hand as he reaches into his pocket.

Steve shuts his half open mouth and glares at him with exasperated wariness, a common expression when in the presence of Tony Stark.

Tony pulls out a little glass vial from his pocket and places it ceremoniously on the coffee table. “Tada!” he flourishes with a wave of his hand.

“Yeah? And?”

“Oh right. An explanation is in order. Introducing Nanobots two point oh,” Tony says, adapting a Vanna White posture and Billy Mays voice. “The next generation in nanotechnology that will solve everything and might make you forgive me. I'll be honest, that's mainly what I'm after. Hard to run a team when my Captain is pissed off.”

“You can't just solve everything with science, Tony,” Steve grouses, crossing his arms over his chest skeptically.

“Actually, I think I can,” Tony counters. “Besides, you don't even know what it does yet!”

“I don't care what it does!” Steve shouts at the same time Bucky asks, “What does it do?”

Steve turns to look at Bucky, feeling incredulity dripping out of every pore. “Excuse me?”

“Well. What does it do?” Bucky repeats, not looking at all repentant for his interruption. And that’s just not fair, Bucky’s supposed to be on _his_ side.

“I'm glad you asked!” Tony says with more Billy Mays style pointing and enunciation.

“I didn't ask,” Steve shoots back at Tony before turning back to Bucky. “Why do you care what it does?”

“He says it could solve everything,” Bucky points out with a shrug. “Can't we at least hear him out?”

“He also broke everything,” Steve points out haughtily. These nanobots are exactly what caused this mess. How can Bucky be willing to give Tony any slack?

“Not everything,” Bucky shrugs with a half smile. Steve doesn't miss the way Bucky grabs his metal arm with his flesh hand to subtly draw attention, a reminder, to how Tony was a savior. Steve shutters, shaking away the memory of the computer synthesized voice declaring how long until self destruct.

“Just hear me out,” Tony interjects. “No pressure, no obligation. Just five minutes of your time.” His tone has lost the Billy Mays quality, more subdued and imploring than expected.

Steve turns back to Tony, watching how he looks faintly out of his element. The soft intensity about his eyes communicates his sincerity. He actually might look sorry, the way he didn't almost two weeks ago in the hospital room. He actually looks like he’s finally admitted guilt and actually tried to do something to fix it.

“Fine,” Steve says through gritted teeth. Tony might be sorry but Steve is a long way from forgiving him. But this might be a start. Maybe.

“Great choice!” Tony jumps at the opportunity to talk science.

Steve actually makes an effort this time to listen to Tony describe what this new nanotechnology will do, how and why it will fix everything as he so blanketly phrased it. But try as he might, Tony still uses advanced wording like “metabolic revolutionism” and “musculature mimicry” that Steve interrupts. “Speak English, Tony.”

Tony twists his face consideringly and thinks before speaking. “You're basically going to have all your old powers, minus the size. I haven’t figured out how to make the nanobots grow safely, but they can make you faster and stronger and heal you, just like the serum did.”

“And it's safe?” Bucky asks.

“I did extensive tests on this batch,” Tony promises. “Totally safe. And I've put even more safety precautions in place. They're linked to Steve's DNA so any leaked ‘bots cannot be hijacked or accidentally infect someone else.”

“What’s the catch?” Steve asks, eyeing the bottle like one would snake venom. 

“No catch,” Tony assures. “Well, tiny catch. The nutritional intake of the current nanobots is minimal. The new nanobots require far more upkeep to do their tricks, so you’ll be back to eating like a horse. And, just think, this is only two point oh. Imagine what I can give you with version three! Just think! Xray vision! Laser beams from your eyes! _Echolocation_! You could be _Batman_!”

“Thank you, Tony,” Steve says. “That’s a lot to think about.”

“I’m offering you the chance to unironically utter the phrase _I’m Batman_ and you want to _think it over_?”

“No pressure, no obligation, huh?” Steve reiterates with a raised eyebrow.

“Okay,” Tony shrugs. He grabs his StarkPad, his drink, and the vial before walking towards the door. He pauses in the entryway and looks at Steve pointedly. “In case it wasn’t abundantly clear, I’m sorry,” he says and ducks out the door.

Just as the door clicks closed, Bucky rounds on Steve and says, “Now what the hell is wrong with you?”

“What?” Steve asks, taken aback. 

“Seventy years ago you jumped at the chance to risk your life just so you could Be All You Could Be, and now that there’s a safer way to do it, you want to _think it over_?” Bucky asks with barely contained exasperation.

Steve distinctly remembers the way Bucky _didn’t_ commend Steve’s dream of joining the Army. Steve never got the chance to tell Buck about Project Rebirth before it all happened. But after Azzano, where he’d used his new body to rescue Bucky from the table, Bucky still didn’t approve. He was still wary and distrusting that Steve would do something so impossibly stupid, just to get on the front lines where he could die. The juxtaposition is astounding. “What the fuck, Bucky? Where was this support for my choices seventy years ago?”

“Look, all I’m asking is why you didn’t take it. It’s what you want, isn’t it?”

And it totally is what Steve wants. In this tiny, useless body, he can’t even hope to save anyone from anything. The only time in his life he was useful was when he was Big Steve Rogers and now this is the Next Best Thing. Of course he wants the upgrade. But the other reason he went for the Project Rebirth was because he absolutely was going to die in 1943. Perhaps not directly in 1943, but certainly before his 30th birthday. It didn’t matter what the side effects were, even if one of them was death. But what if Tony’s wrong? What if his calculations aren’t safe? What if there’s some other unsavory side effect hidden in the lines of code? Something worse than just shrinking.

He may be unremarkable now, but at least he’s alive. At least he’ll live to see 30. Or, 98 depending on which birthdays count.

The thing he was willing to trade his life for back in 1943 is standing in front of him. He doesn’t need to make any more deals with any more devils to keep it that way.

“Just leave it alone,” Steve asks, testily. He makes to go to his room, to end this conversation.

“No way, Stevie,” Bucky says, catching him by the arm. “Talk to me, why don’t you want to be a superhero anymore?” Bucky presses.

“Would you stop!” Steve demands, yanking his arm back from Bucky. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

Bucky pauses and studies him. Feeling invaded and vulnerable, Steve looks down and away. “You’re scared,” Bucky says.

It’s not a question but a fact that Steve doesn’t bother to confirm, instead shrugging noncommittally.

“Not like you to run from a fight,” Bucky says. No antagonistic tone can be detected, just another statement of fact for Steve to acknowledge with another shrug.

“This isn’t your typical fight,” Steve replies. He pauses to gather his thoughts, his reasons, so he can be clear. “I just don’t want some unknown side effect to... Well, take me somewhere away from you.” The cliché is as mushy as mashed potatoes, Steve cringes.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Bucky reminds him. The smile on his face is small, but hopeful. “Not without you.”

Talk about cliché, Steve thinks as he leans up to kiss Bucky, sealing their promises.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you were curious about the signed conversation between Bucky and Clint...
> 
>   1. Clint calls Bucky a cocksucker. ["Cock"](https://youtu.be/JGmRM25R5to) can be found here in this video. For additional fun, [click here](https://youtu.be/FS7xqgqC9vE) to learn three ways to say blowjob. 
>   2. Bucky calls Clint a [twat waffle](https://youtu.be/B2DgfuIrtIY).
>   3. Clint calls Bucky a [motherfucker](https://youtu.be/coNvanyXES8).
> 

> 
> Obviously I have again used Google to help me with the sign language. Please let me know if they need some adjustments.


	11. Chapter 11

As it turns out, Nanobots 2.0 had many unsavory side effects. It was Boner City in Steve’s pants for two weeks before he was able to overcome the awkward conversation with Tony to address the issue. But the two weeks was spent almost entirely with Bucky and various flat surfaces, so it wasn’t all bad.

The next problem was getting Tony to cool it with all the suggested upgrades. If it weren’t for Bucky, Steve’s sure Tony would attempt to toss in some freebies without prior approval.

Steve and (mostly) Tony are still working out some of the kinks - optimizing the strength to body mass ratio and perfecting the healing factor, all while preventing unwanted boners. It’s a complicated process that mainly involves Steve half dozing on Tony’s lab bench while Tony drinks coffee excessively and stares unblinkingly at one of the dozens of holographic screens floating around his head.

Bucky, Natasha, and Critter crash the latest session. Their entrance into the lab causes Steve to stir from where he’s resting his head on his hand. His wrist gives out before he has enough control over the rest of his body to prevent his head from slamming on the desk. He rubs his nose and then the sleep from his eyes.

“No cats in the lab, what the hell do you think this is?” Tony says, but he hasn’t looked away from his screens.

Bucky says something at the cadence of real words, but it takes Steve a moment to realize he couldn’t attach meaning to the sounds. Natasha laughs, though, which tips him off that it must be Russian.

“What did you say?” Steve asks, voice gruff from the little sleep he’s gotten.

“If I wanted you to know, I’d have picked French,” Bucky responds. Critter is cradled in his arms. He smiles at the cat in and scratches under her chin while she purrs loud enough to hear across the room.

Dum-E trills and escapes from his corner to wave at Bucky. Then, the robot cautiously adjusts his proximity and lowers his arm to pet Critter. The little robot then chirps, spins in a circle really fast, and returns to his corner.

Natasha says _something_ back in Russian with distinct head movements that match the tempo of her voice. Bucky looks up at her and glares.

“Now what did you say,” Steve asks, amused.

Bucky continues to glare while Natasha answers him. “I said, his Russian is as sloppy as your ass after he’s done with it.”

He can feel the heat of the blush now covering him from head to toe. “Asshole,” Steve announces.

“Could we _please_ not discuss sex in _my lab_ unless I'm involved?” Tony requests. “Seriously, get out of here, and take that furry thing with you.”

“Relax,” Bucky says. “We’ll get out of your hair as soon as you surrender the Captain.”

“Negative,” Tony replies, finally looking away from his screen to address Bucky head on. “I need him.”

“No,” Natasha says. “You need someone to stroke your ego every time you make a breakthrough. Steve isn’t necessary until after the breakthrough is made.”

“Steve is performing adequate stroking -”

“He better not be!” Bucky interrupts.

“I haven’t stroked anything, especially not your ego,” Steve says.

“Spoil sport,” Tony pouts. He then grunts petulantly, and rubs a hand through his hair. “Fine, I guess we can take a break. You can go.”

Steve jumps off the lab stool with a face-splitting grin. “Where am I off to?” he asks as he slides up to pace with Bucky. He reaches over to pet Critter once or twice to her delight.

“Hot date,” Bucky says with a wink.

“With whom?” Steve asks, looking around the room as if his mysterious partner will materialize out of thin air and he doesn’t want to miss it.

“Me, silly,” Bucky says, bumping shoulders.

Perhaps there are still some bugs, but for now, the upgrade in relationship status is sure working out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to put another thanks out to my betas [transwintersoldier](http://transwintersoldier.tumblr.com/) and [theflailing](http://theflailing.tumblr.com/).
> 
> And I'd also like to take the time to acknowledge everyone who has left comments and kudos. Thanks to you, this is now my most read fic on ao3. So thank you very, very much!

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi on tumblr at [captainrainbowlegs](http://captainrainbowlegs.tumblr.com/)!


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